CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Liam

Pain and confusion clouded sensibility. I am mentally susceptible to poor decision making and misguidance. I drive one-handed down congested roads, through volumes of traffic and past indistinct people. At the red traffic light, I eased onto the brake and dropped into neutral to prevent stalling.

Breathing exhausted my lungs. I held the steering wheel with clammy hands and watched the sweat drip from my head onto my clenched fists. Leaning across the centre console, opening the glove compartment, I fossicked through miscellaneous belongings in search of drugs. I might own the syndicate vehicles, but I am unknowledgeable of the drivers and their stockpiled possessions.

Coming out empty-handed, I left the latch open in exasperation and sank back in the discomforting leather chair. Senses on high alert, I swallowed bitter-tasting bile and glossed over debilitating tremors, the giddiness in my stomach and the light-headed dizziness signifying fatigue.

A car horn blared somewhere.

Switching into first gear, I eased my barefoot onto the accelerator and cruised forward—another horn shrieked, which jolted me into staggering alertness. I slammed on the brake, unhesitant yet disorientated, latterly perceiving onrushing vehicles departing the right junction.

Grasping the passenger seat’s headrest, I looked over my shoulder and reversed into position before someone crashed into the bumper. I would be entirely blameworthy. However, in my current state, I’d shoot a motherfucker for damaging these wheels.

The traffic light signalled green.

My left eye twitched.

Back into first gear, I go, vigilantly scouring the intersections as I drive ahead. Not trusting my driving abilities, I swerved into the first empty space between two parked vehicles opposite the chain of department stores and switched off the engine.

I had to make a phone call.

Where’s my phone?

What’s the time?

Commuters packed the pavements and scuttled to the London Underground, but businesses remained unopened, bar the breakfast truck outside the tube station. I should eat. If I were sensible, I’d pack in a few breakfast rolls.

Insatiable revenge outweighed famishment, though.

I stepped out of the Bentley, popped open the boot and overturned the guard’s holdalls: gym clothes, spare suits, protein bars, thriller novels and bundled cash.

Helping myself to the money, I locked the car and walked barefoot along the pavement.

The mod boutique beckoned interest. Testing the locked door handle, I peered through to locate the owner and fist-bashed the window. When nobody reared their head, I knocked harder, imperiously demanding service.

Short, curvaceous and enthusiastically chipper, the Rubenesque brunette unlocked the shop door and explained, although she is not open to the public for another forty-five minutes, I am welcome to come inside and look around.

“Are you buying for yourself or a loved one?” she asked, lingering beside me like a lovesick poodle I had the urge to kick away from my ankle.

I spurned the ostentatious flocks and medieval-looking undergarments. “Do people actually buy this shit?”

“Yes.” Her rosy lips pouted. “You’d be surprised. I am the leading supplier of many theatrical performances. Plus, the occasional married couple fancies themselves role play from time to time.”

My head pounded at the temples. “I need socks, trainers and a phone.”

“Trainers? Yeah, as you can see, I don’t sell sportswear…” She scratched her head. “Wait here. I might have something out the back. Just,” she ebbed backwards, gesticulating outlandishly to the floor, “stay put.”

While the certifiable owner is out of sight, I raised my hoodie to examine the bandages weaved around my abdomen. Fresh blood immersed the delicate fibres. I am tempted to unravel the dressing to assess the damage.

“Tennis shoes?” she mused upon return, and I concealed oneself from intrusive eyes. “Are you okay?” Unbecoming footwear landed on the cashier desk. “You look unwell. Maybe I should call the out of hours helpline…”

“Maybe you should keep your nose in check and add socks to the bill,” I said irritably. “Phone?”

She blundered behind the cash register. “I don’t sell phones.”

“Obviously.” I licked my thumb and raked through twenty-pound notes. “I will use yours.”

“Oh,” she said, amenable and ditzy. “Yes, I can lend you the phone. Thirteen?” Holding up the white tennis shoes, she puckered an eyebrow. “You have big feet.”

“Twelve,” I corrected, catching the airborne socks she’d lunged. “The phone?”

“Yes. Right. Of course.” Hands waving astride her head in an idiosyncratic manner, she floundered, uncoordinated, and seemingly directionless, from one side of the store to the other. “If I were a phone,” she sang, “where would I hide?”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “You left it on the desk.”

“I did?” Her head appeared over the rack of historical garments. “Well, it is yours. Feel free to rack up a bill,” she added in a soprano voice, and I could only blink. “I can cover expenses. It’s totally fine. Would you like to go on a date sometime?”

“I—What?” I wore a disgusted expression. “I am married.”

“Are you sure you do not require a doctor?” Eyes screwing up as she studied my face, she parked her ass on the desk. “You got a little boo-boo here.” She pointed to her bottom lip in an indication of my ruptured stitch. “And, no offence, because, you know, I am a sucker for demented convicts, but you look like you just escaped a correctional facility.”

Deciding not to answer, I sat on the low-rise chair, teeth gritted in anguish, and attempted to lift my leg. Excruciating pain penetrated my stomach, and my eyes watered involuntarily. “Fuck,” I spat, my back slumping to the window. “Got any drugs in this bitch?” It was a serious question. If I don’t numb the nervous system soon, I may pass out. “Alcohol will suffice.”

“Afraid not.” Re-claiming the socks, she kneeled on the floor in front of me and rolled them on my feet. I was grateful but never voiced gratitude. “Would you like me to put on the shoes?”

I gave her a curt nod.

“I was married once.” Retrieving the trainers, unravelling the laces, she returned to the floor. Head bowed as she wiggled them onto my feet, she prattled on about shit that spun my head into a riot and irked me with tales of randomness. “He cheated on me. Would you cheat on your wife?”

Scowling at the rotating ceiling fan, I clipped, “No.”

I love my wife.

“Aw, how sweet,” she cooed, and I let out a discernibly agitated sigh. “Well, she is a fortunate woman.” She double-knotted the laces. “I bet she wants for nothing, your bonnie lass. What, being married to Warren and all that other nonsense.”

I slowly dropped my head forward and glared. “Aren’t you omniscient?”

Her pearly whites exhibited. “Do you think I would have opened the shop doors early for anyone else?” A snort rattled her nostrils. “I like my legs, thank you.” When I stared narrowly, she stuttered, “I heard a rumour once that you, like, excised…” She audibly gulped. “Anyhow, who cares?” Hand flapping dismissively, she stood taller and dusted off her pencil skirt. “Let’s ring up the goods so you can be on your merry way.”

I gathered strength and stood. “Phone.”

“Kiss me through the phone,” she yodelled, her hips circulating stiffly. “I’ll see you later on. Kiss me through the phone.” Waggling her eyebrows, she pointed her fingers in my direction. “See you when I get home.”

My facial features hardened. “Is there something not quite right in the head?” I asked, and her nose wrinkled. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Well, excuse me for being happy.” Baring her upper teeth, she pulled an ugly face and flung the phone on my upturned hand. “One hundred and fifty sterling, Warren.”

My thumb hovered on the call button. “For a pair of thrift style shoes?”

“Vintage.” She studied her fingernails with a bored expression. “Pay up, Mr. You can afford it.”

I left cash on the desk.

Phone to my ear, I put my back to her and waited for the connection. “Emergency, which services do you require,” the handler answered.

“Police,” I said, and she transferred the call.

“Do you want coffee?” the shop owner asked.

I shook my head.

She tapped my back. “How about some good old English tea?”

My tongue glued to the roof of my mouth.

“I make amazing pancakes—”

My jaw steeled. “Will you shut the fuck up?”

She wired her mouth for one second. “Rude.”

“What’s your location,” asked the male from the force control room, and I reeled off a random address. “Are you in danger?”

“I need you to transfer me to the City of London police station. Preferably the Superintendent’s office.”

He paused to consider. “What is the nature of the call?”

If only I had memorised the man’s personal contact number. “Family.”

“One moment.”

Default music offended my ears. I lowered the phone, placed the call on speaker and rubbed grogginess from my eyes; I could fall asleep on my nose.

Poking me in the back, the woman asked, “Do you want the change?”

I ignored her.

“This is Chief Superintendent Reginald Burton.” Came Reginald’s scratchy voice, and I took him off the loudspeaker. “How can I help?”

“It’s Warren.” I gripped the phone tightly. “I need something from you.”

“Jesus, Warren. I have been spitting feathers since four o’clock this morning. The metropolitan’s in an uproar over stolen importation.” He chose his words wisely in case someone’s eavesdropping. “I can’t go into details over the phone. Donny claimed you got shot last night.”

“Vincent took the bullets,” I explained, and he hushed to listen. “I am good, though. I nabbed myself a few bruises here and there. I cannot say the same for my brother.”

“Ah, shit.” He huffed out. “What can I do for you?”

“Alberto Moretti, Saverio Bosqui, Johnny Cazale or Anthony Costello.” Sweat trickled down my face. “Give me a residential address or an establishment, occupied or unoccupied.”

“Right.” Reginald cleared phlegm from his throat, and the sound of him tapping a keyboard ensued. “Nothing on Moretti nor Cazale. I got an Italian restaurant for Costello, though. Is that helpful?”

“What’s the location?”

“Il Pellicano.” The chair beneath him groaned. “East London.”

I ended the call.

“Can I interest you in homemade cake pops?”

My eyes re-assessed the deranged woman. “You are stark raving mad.”

***

Early morning sunrise bathed the street, and skittering shadows inclined building walls and shop windows. I drove the Bentley past Il Pellicano’s (without collision) and parked across from the closed-down convenience store. Two people stood at the bus stop, a jogger’s trainers belted across the pathway as his pup sprang on his heels, and someone in a yellow high-visibility jacket collected litter from the gutters.

I curled my fingers, clenched my fists and released tension to generate blood flow. Perspiration soaked the back of my hoodie. Developed dizziness and heart palpitations increased. I was burning up and intermittently feverish.

Pulling down the sun visor, I slid the latch across to reveal the mirror and touched my swollen lips. Ice solidified hot veins. Justifiable scenarios constituted in my head. Darkness veiled vision, and endorphins dissipated discomfort.

An air of gravity seemed to bolster the weight in my strides as I drifted towards the neoclassical building. Distorted vines clambered mortar joints. Old-fashioned vehicles overloaded the small car park, long-stemmed roses lived in beds of thorns and perennial shrubs, yet colours were indistinguishable due to monochromatic vision. Grey inhabited surroundings, the sweeping birds above, the inclement weather and Glock in my hand.

I entered through the ajar back door, not caring if anyone witnessed my invasion or how many opponents loitered indoors. Compromised or not, I had to stay true to myself. I had to avenge the lost souls of the syndicate, defend my younger brother and launch a merciless counterattack.

A shapely woman carrying a bread filled wickerwork box emerged from a side room into the hallway. Her colourless eyes protruded. Part baked rolls tossed heavenward. She spun on her heel to evade the attack. I released a bullet from the chamber, and the ear-splitting bang graced the echoing halls ahead of her knee-buckling collapse. To her death, she fell. Dark liquid submerged loose ringlets and stained the carpeted floor.

Dampness misted my face. I stepped over her dead body, bread squelching under my trainer. I floated from the vestibule to the empty restaurant. Regal dinnerware, rickety chairs, round tables, floor-length curtains and common house plants greyed the commodious room.

Canned laughter resounded.

I followed the noise through the restaurant into the stainless-steel kitchen, where large pans bubbled on the stove and joints of meat defrosted on the counters in preparation for the lunch menu. I found the chef in the walk-in freezer. Running through a stock check, he counted bagged vegetables, wiping his hands on the back of his chequered trousers.

I closed the door and locked him inside.

His muffled imploration fell on deaf ears. Too exhausted to proceed, I put my palms to the pitted wall and lowered my head to recapture wakefulness.

“Tu chi sei?” His voice rippled across the waves in my ears. “Cosa stai facendo qui?”

“I don’t speak Italian,” I mumbled, and the invisible man shoved me in the shoulder. Staggering away from the door, smashing into a stack of heavy-duty aluminium saucepans, I rounded my blurred eyes to sharpen far-sightedness and vaguely see another person spitting profanity in front of me. Blindly, I reached for the frying pan and whacked him over the head. He went down along with the pan.

I rolled onto my side, resting on the counter, and rubbed his spittle off my face.

Why am I here?

I am asking to die. In no state to confront adversaries, I meshed my cheek on the cold counter and concluded how to get back to the Bentley unscathed. Alexa, she must be out of her mind with worry. I never even kissed her before I left. If she did that to me, I’d be furious.

Go home, Warren, I thought. If not the Manor, then the hospital. Vincent needs me. The brothers need me. My wife, she needs me.

“I thought you died,” said Anthony Costello, and the muscles in my arms coiled up. “You know, where I am from, coming to a man’s home, uninvited, it is disrespectful.”

I summoned my inner demons.

Rising to my full height, I elevated my chin, looked him dead in the eye and spat on the floor.

Costello’s the baby compared to his equals, but in my fragile shape, he’d give me a run for my money.

Grasping his hands behind his back, he glanced at the disrespect I threw on his floor and redirected abhorrence to me. “You will lick that up.”

I mustered a wicked smirk. “Ordered by whom?” We spoke with equal acerbity. “I bow to no one, especially unimportant menials who aren’t fit enough to shine my fucking shoes.”

Anthony’s suit jacket met the floor. He bunched up his shirt sleeves, leaving them casually at the elbows, and rolled his neck with a sequence of bone clicks. “I give you five minutes, Warren.”

I doffed the hoodie and set it next to the Glocks on the counter.

His eyes immediately homed in on the bandages, which indicated his first move, and then he marvelled at chest and arms. “You are a big fucker.” The scrawny runt closed in. “But I can take you.”

Costello’s large fist aimed straight for my stomach. Footsteps faltering, I shunned the blow, his combination of jabs and up swinging punches.

We fought like barbaric animals, beating each other, knowing one of us had to die, and even through the aches, the debilitations and mental torments, I knew it wouldn’t be me.

Costello clipped me in the jaw, and metallic copper flooded my mouth. Blocking his fluctuating arms, ducking and diving, I braved the brawl on unsteady legs and waited for his bold vigorousness to overtax.

I caught him with a right hook, and he moved clumsily, having not anticipated the startling force.

Twice, he struck me in the jaw, cracking a back tooth, completely cleaving the stitches holding my lip intact.

Using the back of my hand to mop the blood off my chin, I retaliated with unforgiving punches, the swiftness backing him up against the counter.

Several licks of my punishing fists, he withstood until he knew that I was stronger and forcefully dominant.

Costello sidestepped and struck me in the side. Pain exploded through my muscles and crippled me into stark oblivion.

Rendered inactive, I dropped to my knees in a daze and saw two of everything. Grey views blackened. If it were not for inborn stubbornness, I’d surrender, but I’d rather die on the end of the sword before I bowed to its handler.

Fisting my hair by the roots, Costello yanked my head back, elongating my neck, and teased my bobbing throat with a kitchen knife. “I play dirty,” he accentuated, and I faintly heard high heeled shoes frantically scurrying through the restaurant. He, too, overheard an unwanted visitor, the alarmed hitch of a woman’s voice as she called out my name. “It seems I have a guest. You are very lucky, Warren. Your wife is the pinnacle of beauty. I will take great pleasure in comforting her for you.”

Thoughts of what he’d do to my wife roused a reaction. Just as the blade nicked my skin, I landed a fine uppercut between his legs. The knife uncaged from his fingers in aftershock. Gripping his bollocks, he gasped, misty-eyed and knocked for six, doubling over at the waist.

“Not dirty enough.” I snatched the knife, stabbed him in the back of the knee and brought his self-assured ass to the ground. Clutching his jaw, I snarled. “You should have killed me while you had the chance motherfucker.”

Bestowing the same civility, I grappled Costello’s hair and dragged his thrashing, bending, shrieking body across the floor tiles.

With what little energy I had left, I knocked the sizable steel lid off the commercial fryer, heaved his body across the counter and dunked his head into scolding fat. Pinning him beneath the bubbling surface, I blocked the pungent stench of burning flesh from invading my nose and the odoriferous urination soaking his trousers.

Splatters of hot oil singed my knuckles. I drew back his head and flung him aside. Raw blisters and foam melted the skin off his face. He’s dead, yet I felt no better than I did this morning. I extracted the knife from his knee and impaled him in the heart, a final mockery to Alberto and his men.

“Liam…” Alexa’s blurry form appeared in the kitchen’s doorway. “Brad, I got him!” she yelled and then ran to my side. “Oh, Liam.”

If Anthony Castello’s dead body perturbed my wife, she didn’t show. Soft hands touched my cheeks. Her moving red lips, her hazel-coloured eyes flecked in golden hues, the only tones to brighten the blackness, held mine before I sank to the floor in defeat.

“Brad!” Keeping an arm behind my back, Alexa tumbled, unable to support my body weight, and let my head rest on her thigh. “Liam, do not close your eyes.”

“Fucking Christ.” Brad knelt on the floor and pressed a cold compress to my busted lip. “Nate, get in the kitchen. Bring the bag.”

“I am right here, Liam.” Alexa’s words soothed my soul. Her hand captured mine, and she weaved our fingers. When her lips laid on my forehead, my eyelashes fluttered shut. “We are all here.”

Assuaged by my wife’s love and affection, I buried my head on her stomach, held her in my hour of need and welcomed the intervention of others.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Alexa

After Liam quite literally defaced Anthony Costello, he agreed to hospitalisation. Intermittent consciousness, high fevers and unbearable pain played a huge factor in his willingness. He’s out of shape, physically, mentally and emotionally, and he knows, even if he’s too stubborn to admit defencelessness aloud, convalescence is necessary before wars with the Italians arise.

Liam sleeps on the bed. He changed into a clean tracksuit before climbing under the threadlike sheets and allowed me to efface the dry blood from his discoloured jaw and abraded hands; I had applied unscented moisturiser to his fingers and knuckles, and the somniferous technique had his eyes closed within seconds.

Transfused blood was no longer a requirement for Liam, but the doctor restitched his lacerated lip and examined the inflamed stitches on his lower abdomen where fresh blood oozed from distended skin and surgical sutures threatened to divaricate; alongside the doctor, the pleasant anaesthesiologist administered opioids and fluids and assured that my husband is on the mend just as long as he doesn’t lose composure when he awakens.

Nate cut his eyes to me. “I want to hire additional security from the barracks.”

Due to Liam’s recklessness this morning, the syndicate anticipates Alberto Moretti’s vengeful reciprocation.

“I can station men at Club 11, The Grape and Vine and the casino.” Nate plonked a folder on my lap. “It’s a precaution against attack. Moretti’s in no position to enter the hospital, not unless he’s got a death wish, so he’ll go for the next best thing. Warren’s establishments.”

“Why the casino? It’s not even open for business.” I studied the folder in bewilderment. “What’s the document?”

“Open or not, we need to look after Warren’s assets. So, with your permission, I’d like to hire those extra men, Alexa,” he stressed, and my eyebrows slowly reached my hairline. “Preferably a signature.”

We lost many men the night of the heist. “Since when did my opinion matter?”

“Since you married the boss,” Brad said upon entering the room. He’d left two hours ago to grab a shower and to refuel. “I bought you a sandwich.” He arranged store purchased items on the table: chicken salad, vegetable crisps and cucumber-infused water.

Guzzling from a Lucozade sports bottle, Brad tossed another folder on my lap and an overfilled handbag at my feet. “Gateway has a delivery tonight. Sign that so I can authorise drop-offs. Also, I swung by the Manor to pack some clean clothes for you both and found a moody teenager helping himself to the fridge in your kitchen.” He arched an eyebrow. “You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

“You met Logan.” Flipping open the folders, I scribbled my signature across the dotted lines. “He’s one of the teenagers from Inseparable Youths. Liam decided to kill his parents, so he’s staying with us until further notice.”

“Why am I only just hearing about this?” Brad side-eyed Nate. “You’re a little quiet over there, Nate.”

“I assumed the boss told you.” Nate accepted the folder from my hand. “Take it up with him.”

“I am wholly fucking offended.” With a feigned expression of devastation, Brad slumped onto the visitors’ chair and outstretched his legs. “Warren goes and adopts some straggler, and I am none the wiser. Why am I always the last to know something around here? Why not chuck me downstairs with the first tiers? I am clearly out of my league with you bunch of tossers.”

“You cannot be trusted with our newbies, Brad.” I squeezed his shoulder. “You’d corrupt them.”

Smirking proudly, he slapped a hand on his chest. “I would cause so much carnage.”

I uncapped the water bottle. “We’d miss you if you left the elite table, so don’t get any wayward ideas.”

“Exactly. I am too loved.” Brad slipped a toothpick in his mouth. “Your phone’s vibrating.”

“Shit.” Matthew’s name flashed on the screen. “I’ll be right back.” Leaving the opened water bottle on the table, I plucked up the phone and sidled into the room’s private bathroom. “Hey.” I put my back to the tiled wall. “Matthew, I was meant to call.”

“Are you running late?” he asked, and Brad, more inquisitorial than most gossipmongers, poked his head around the door. “It’s the staff meeting tonight.”

“I’m sorry, Matt. My husband’s in the hospital, so I can’t be at work this week.” Matthew’s concerningly quiet. “I should have called. I am up with the fairies right now and… It’s unprofessional. Again, I am sorry.”

“No, don’t apologise, Alexa.” His understanding had my tense shoulders drooping. “I hope your husband’s okay. Will you be at work next week?”

Brad raked his judgmental eyes over me.

“Monday.” I gave the incorrigible blond the bird. “Nice and early to catch up.”

“Great,” Matthew chirped. “Send me a text if you need anything. Other than that, I will see you next Monday.”

“Bye,” I replied awkwardly and hung up. “Seriously, Brad? I left the room for a reason. Am I not entitled to privacy?” Upholding his disparaging scowl, blond Suit folded his muscular arms. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Who’s Matty?” he asked, his voice slithered in accusation. “He sounds like a right fucking tool.”

“Matthew’s my boss.”

“Bossman’s your boss.”

“No, Liam’s my husband.” I went to the seating area to finish my drink. “I don’t take orders from him—”

“Liar,” Liam croaked, and all three of us flung our heads in his direction. “Finish your sentence, baby. I can’t wait to hear your fabrications.” Then, pulling himself into a seated position, he propped his back to the pillow and dipped his head. “Come here.”

To his calling, I went. “How are you feeling?” Wrapping an arm around his neck, I sat on the bed and kissed his cheek. “I—” His mouth sought mine for a long, bruising kiss. “Love you,” I finished my sentence, and he smiled against my lips. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he whispered, his finger curling hair behind my ear. “You look beautiful.”

“Well, I took a shower and threw my hair up,” I said lightly, and his smile widened. “You scared us, Liam. Imagine if we never found you in time.”

He shrugged a dismissive shoulder. “I’d have crawled out of there and come back to you.”

“You passed out,” I reminded him, and his arm slipped from behind my back in frustration. “Alberto, what if he got there before we did? You’d be dead or moribund if nothing else.”

“I’m alive.” He scratched his jaw. “Forget about it.”

“No,” I said defiantly, gripping his jaw and forcing him to uphold eye contact. “I will not forget. You cannot endanger yourself and expect me to hold my tongue. Did you not consider us when you stormed out of the hospital?” His cautionary glare sprouted goosebumps to my arms. “I don’t want to live a life without you, Liam. Please, if you love me at all, make better decisions. I ask very little of you, but I draw the line under suicidal missions. Your stubbornness can go to Hell. You are a family man now.”

His angry stare sharpened. “Are you done?”

I fumed. “Do not mock me.”

“I am not mocking you.” His palms cupped my cheeks. “I listened, baby.” Kissing the corner of my lips, he curled his arms around me and got comfortable with my head on his chest. “Vincent?”

Nate discarded his reading glasses to rub his eyes. “Vincent’s attacker shot him at close range,” he elucidated, and Liam’s body tensed. “One bullet in each thigh. Three in the chest. Every bullet missed vital organs and arteries except the one below his clavicle. That bullet blew a subclavian vein. He went into cardiac arrest twice during surgery and was revived. It would seem dauntlessness runs deep in your family because the fucker wasn’t going down without a fight.” He adjusted his nose ring. “Vincent’s on mechanical ventilation until the doctor believes he can breathe on his own. Alas, it’s unlikely that he’ll wake up anytime soon.”

Liam watched rain spatter on the window. “I need a moment alone with my wife,” he said thickly, his fingers absently writing something indecipherable along my spine. “Brad, step in for the next few days,” he added as the men made a beeline for the door. “Keep me posted.”

Brad gave him a two-finger salute. “No problem, Bossman.”

Once granted space, Liam tilted my chin and captured my eyes. “I thought I might lose him,” he spoke freely while out of earshot from the others. “Vincent. I thought…” His dark brows incurved. “He’s my brother.”

I nodded. “Vincent’s more like you than you realise.”

“Yes,” he agreed, brushing his thumb over my lips. “If he dies, I will never forgive myself.”

Liam’s unconcealed declaration of regret hit me like a sledgehammer. Usually, he’s an unregretful, unremorseful man and showing emotions was beneath him.

I am proud of his personal growth.

“Vincent’s strong and far too stubborn to let the light steer him.” I smiled. “He’s had a good teacher.”

He touched his sore lips. “I cannot take credit for the man he is today.”

I think Liam’s underestimated the lengths in which Vincent has gone through to semblance his older brother. Of course, Vincent’s a closed book (we only know what he’s shared), but it’s evident he’s lived in Liam’s shadow since uncovering their siblingship.

Liam’s eyes never left mine. “Where’s the boy?”

“Logan’s with Alfie at the Manor.” Logan hasn’t texted me yet or asked if I’ll be home anytime soon. I guess he prefers to be away from the Warrens, and I can hardly blame him. “I suppose he should be in school, but I am new to this, Liam. Am I allowed to demand or expect anything from him?”

“You are within your rights to lay down the law, baby. Ensure the boy goes to school, or he’ll contend with my wrath.” He struggled to keep his eyes open. “Are there men guarding Vincent’s door?”

I kissed his knuckles. “Yes.”

“Go home.” He coaxed me to stand. “Get some rest.”

“I don’t want to leave you alone—”

“I am fine,” he insisted, fighting all-consuming tiredness. “You can return later. I am no good to you asleep.”

I loomed beside the bed.

Liam succumbed to sleep almost instantly. I combed my fingers through his hair, keeping my hand atop his head while he rested, and leaned in to press a soft kiss to the crease between his furrowed eyebrows.

I love this man so much.

His powerlessness invoked vengefulness. He struck the Italians at the peak of adrenaline, and I plan to continue the series of onslaughts before Moretti can retaliate.

“Do not let anyone inside Liam’s room,” I ordered the second I left my husband’s side. Four Suits guarded his door. I looked at the biggest gent. “If a doctor or nurse enters, I want you to accompany them every time.”

The big guy nodded. “Yes, Ma’am.”

I located Brad and Nate in the hospital’s concourse. Brad tucks into an unpaid baguette with gusto while they stand in the long queue to order coffee from the barista. “We need to send the men to the Italians,” I began. “We can follow Liam’s lead and start with their establishments. Terminate allies. Make them bleed. Make them hurt. I want buildings turned to dust, and loved ones disintegrated into ashes. Send a big message on behalf of the Warren Enterprise. We are not one’s to tolerate deception.”

Brad binned the baguette and rubbed his palms together. “Any prohibitions?”

I considered his question. “Leave the children unscathed.”

***

Cardboard boxes hoarded the Manor’s grand foyer. Reading the receipts, I squeezed through deliveries until free from disorganisation and stepped out of my heels, kicking them next to the marble sideboard. I caught sight of myself in the wall-mounted mirror and died on the spot. I looked awful, tired and pallid. I had changed into clean clothes earlier, yet the bagginess of the red blouse hadn’t occurred to me until now. It buries my frame in the most unfashionable sense, and the black skirt sagged from my waistline. I scrutinised my protruding collar bones and the cuffs of my sleeves, where the tent-like satin exposed the slenderness of my wrists.

When did clothes no longer fit?

Why hadn’t I noticed before?

“Everything okay, Ma’am?”

I jumped at the intrusion of Alfie’s husky voice. “Yes,” I lied, sweeping bangs out of my eyes. “I, uh, had something on my cheek.”

Alfie stands on the bottom step of the bifurcated stairs. His knowing expression suggested he’d witnessed my reflective analysis, but he remained professionally non-judgmental. “Did you escort yourself home?”

“No, Brad dropped me off before he drove to the club.”

“Would you care for some coffee?” He assessed me further. “A light meal, perhaps?”

“I am not hungry.” I placed my keys and handbag on the sideboard. “Where’s Logan?”

“He’s in the bedroom. I knocked once or twice, but he insisted on ‘alone time.’”

“Right.” Tying my hair into a messy knot, I rolled my sleeves to the elbows and pointed to the flatback boxes. “Get the men to carry everything to Logan’s room. I want the furniture replaced tonight.”

Leaving the Suits to work, I ascended the stairs and strolled to the west wing. I knocked on Logan’s door to alert him of my arrival and invaded the room. He’s on the bed, headphones over his ears, writing something down in a tattered journal. He muted the music and asked, “Is everything okay?”

I doubt Alfie explained why Liam’s in the hospital. “Yes.” I stepped aside for the men to carry boxes over the threshold. “Why don’t we go downstairs while they remove the old furniture? I was thinking…we could watch a movie together and then spend the evening assembling.” Hope bubbled inside me. “What do you say?”

Logan watched Alfie empty the wardrobe. “What’s wrong with the white cupboard?”

“Nothing. You mentioned oak wood and navy walls, right? I figured we could paint over the white and switch the bedding. Hey, I could bring the laptop to the theatre room. You can go online and buy new posters and stuff.” He’s tight-lipped. “Well, you don’t have to buy posters. I bought clothes from that store you like, but if you want to add to the trainer collection, you can put them in the basket, and I’ll order them on my card—”

“Why are you doing this, Alexa?” Logan scrubbed a hand down his face. “Why all the fuss? This isn’t my room. I am not staying here, remember? So, what’s the point in getting comfortable?”

I felt a sharp twinge in my chest. “Yes, I know, but—”

“But what?” He lowered the overhead earphones to his neck. “Look, I can’t thank you enough for making my time here bearable, but don’t give me something to hold onto when you plan to kick me to the curb in a few months.” Eager to be away from me, he escaped the bedroom. “It’s better for everyone if I don’t put my feet under the table.”

Logan ventured to the indoor pool.

The Suits reconstructed the guest bedroom.

I went to bed alone.

***

I had company Wednesday night. Brad, Nate and Josh came to the Manor for a game of pool after shoving unhealthy takeaway food in my face. I chowed down fries and the world’s biggest burger and then imbibed vodka like it was to be extinct.

Josh bickers with Brad over suspected cheating while Nate entertains Blaire’s phone call from the foyer.

As I am a nosey mare, I hearkened to both dilemmas.

Josh’s right. Brad furtively pocketed red balls when his opponent refilled drinks. And Nate, well, I feel bad for the guy. His bondswoman sends relentless text messages, demanding he comes home, and she’s called countlessly to chew his bastard ear off. I mean, is it so bad that he wants time with the men?

Nate glimpsed into the billiard toom and whispered, “Alexa’s in bed.”

My eyebrows skyrocketed.

Nate has to lie about my whereabouts.

Since when?

And what does it matter?

Honestly, I want to rip the phone out of Nate’s hand and deliver some home truths. Blaire’s mental if she believes I am a threat to their bizarre relationship. Even if I was a cheating trollop, Nate’s far too loyal to betray his boss, plus Nate’s a true gentleman in the ladies department. If he’s committed to one woman, he’d never tarnish their relationship by sleeping with others.

It’s not his style.

Brad, on the other hand, I wouldn’t trust him with anyone’s wife, and I most certainly doubt he will ever settle down for love. “Are you listening?” I asked in a hushed voice, and the two men, both wearing wicked smirks, fell onto the sofa on either side of me. “Blaire’s pissed because I am here.”

Josh pulled a dumbfounded face. “It’s your fucking house.”

“Right?” I swigged from the vodka bottle. “I hate that woman.”

“Likewise.” Brad’s head lolled against the sofa’s rear. “Nate’s in love, though.”

“No,” I whisper-shout, espying said infuriated man pacing in the foyer. “I wish someone else would come along and knock him off his feet.”

“Same.” Josh drank from an empty whiskey glass. “Who stole my drink?”

“You did, asshole.” Taking the glass from his hand, I moved to the minibar and splashed another shot of Jameson inside. “Here.” I delivered the goods, and he winked his gratitude. “I might get drunk tonight—”

“Hold that thought.” Glaring at his vibrating phone, Brad held a finger up. “What?” he slurred into the receiver. “Don’t fuck with me?” At his worried voice, my heart skipped a beat. “En-route.” He ended the call. “Vincent’s gone into cardiac arrest.”

“Again?” Riveted by panic, I reached for my coat and stole the Bentley keys from Brad. “You have had way too much to drink. I will drive.”

Brad’s sweating at the temples, the result of excessive cocaine. “You don’t know how to drive.”

“Yeah, she’s pretty decent,” Josh interjected. “We don’t have time to argue, Brad. Let Alexa handle the wheel.” We departed the billiard room. “Nate, come on. Vincent stopped breathing. We need to get to Warren before he causes a disturbance.”

Nate white-knuckled the phone. “I have to go,” he tells Blaire. “No, I will explain later.” His eyes visited the ceiling. “Babe, I don’t have time for this—I will call you.” He hung up the phone and silenced the ringer. “Who’s driving?”

Brad tousled my hair. “Alexa.”

***

Even with Josh’s prediction, I was unprepared for Liam’s violent belligerence. Nurses prevented him from entering Vincent’s room while the doctor used the defibrillator on the dying man’s chest. Such limitations infuriated Liam. He was inimical to everyone within his proximity, and when Brad enforced his momentary time-out, he overturned his room out of sheer devastation and helplessness.

While Brad attempts to mollify Liam, I peered over the nurse’s head into Vincent’s room and wished I hadn’t. He laid lifelessly. His arms were slack at his sides and the ripped open gown exposed his unmoving chest.

Tears sprang to my eyes as I watched the doctor gel the padded paddles to administer electrical shocks to Vincent’s revealed chest. His body jerked in response. I veered my gaze to the floor and scuttled past to the crushing sight of upheaval.

Inside Liam’s room, I closed the door to subdue disorderliness. Behind me, Liam and Brad argue. It’s an awful sound, their spiteful words and unforgivable tale-telling. Liam has a vicious tongue and freely unleashes stomach-churning secrets when backed in a corner. Brad’s reciprocal, though; they’re as bad as each other.

I tapped Brad’s back and asked him to give us a moment. He looked happy to leave, not wanting to deal with his boss’ aggressiveness.

Liam’s lost in the turmoil of his emotions. His eyes were wide and wrathful, and his dishevelled hair looked as though he’d tugged in vexation. “Liam,” I whispered, and those sad eyes, they found me. With my voice alone, I had the power to stabilise this man. His arms fell down my back to capture my waist, and he held me, clung to me like I was his lifeline. I fisted the back of his hair and talked him through spouts of disheartenment.

“I am coming home,” he said resolutely, and I inwardly protested. “I want to be with my wife.”

“You need to calm down.” I rubbed my palms up and down his trembling arms. “Liam, you should stay here—”

“No.” His angered voice sliced through my suggestion. “Do not fight me on this, baby. You will lose.”

I never dared to challenge Liam’s final decision. He’s reached the acme of forbearance, so no amount of arm-bending can steer decidedness. “If you come home, will you promise to rest?”

Liam’s stubble jaw grazed my cheek. “With you by my side, yes.”

My fingers massaged the nape of his neck. “And will you agree to home visits from a district nurse?”

“Yes,” he said impatiently. “Just…take me home.” Our eyes aligned, and heartbroken tears began to flow down his cheeks. “Alexa…” His head fell on my shoulder, and low, muffled sobs that racked his entire body rose from his throat.

I stumbled into the wall and slid to the floor with him in my arms. “Liam,” I croaked, and his arms locked around my waist, holding me so tightly I feared he’d snap bones. “Vincent’s going to be okay. Please, I don’t like seeing you like this.” His guttural cries of despair soaked my T-shirt. With his head hidden behind my arms, I kneaded his scalp with loving fingers and kissed the tears from his cheek. “No brother of Liam Warren leaves this world without a fight.” Emergency alarms trilled in the hallway, and I glared at the ceiling, praying for a miracle. “We cannot lose hope.”

Liam’s hitched sobs morphed into silent tears. I looked down to see him studying the red-diamonded military tag hanging from my neck. In fear of the unknown, he quieted down to listen to the commotion outside. Knowing I was incapable of pacification, I kissed the tip of his nose and waited with bated breath until the doctor returned.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Liam

I roused to clattering serving plates and my wife’s murmuring sotto voce. Peeling one eye open, I watched Alexa convey a concoction of exotic fruits into the master bedroom: warm pastries and black coffee. Balancing the tray on the bedside table, she tweaked the colourful presentation and stood back, tapping her chin to conclude missing items, it seems. Her slender, mile-long legs beckoned my touch. I reached out languidly and smoothed my palm upwards until her lace-clad derrière fell into my palm, and I squeezed, ever so softly, which prompted her hazel-coloured hues to narrow in feigned disapproval.

Repositioning onto my back, I stretched my legs, tucked my crossed arms underneath my head and awaited her nearness. The neckline of her T-shirt draped from one shoulder, and she corrected it before sitting cross-legged beside me. Plucking purple grapes from the contorted stem, she leaned in and popped one in my mouth. Sweet flavours coated my tongue. I chewed until watermelon chunks replaced the grapes and torn pastry layers traded the melons.

Satisfied by my compliance, Alexa ditched breakfast to lower the satin bedspread. Then, briefly inspecting the bandages around my abdomen, ensuring fresh blood hadn’t surfaced, she folded her hands on her lap and stared deep into my eyes.

What’s bothering you, baby?

Wearing her affection on her sleeve, she closed the meagre gap between us to run her fingers through my hair. I caught her wrist, pulled her arm towards the tray and, with her hand caged beneath mine, coaxed two strawberries into her palm. Her hesitant fingers curled around them. Her cheeks redder than the fruit, she brought one to her mouth, nibbled small bites and tongued sweet-tasting juices from her bottom lip.

Softly, I tugged on her necklace, and she snuggled closer to rest her head on my arm. I set the bowl of blueberries between us and forced her to eat with me. “Ladies first,” I rasped, inhaling the rose-scented shampoo from her damp, unruly hair.

Alexa kissed my chin. “Are you in any pain?”

I ached everywhere. I’ll survive, though.

Lifting blueberries to her mouth, I waited for her lips to part and then asked, “Any updates on Vincent?”

“He’s stable,” she said over a mouthful, absentmindedly tucking into the bowl for extra portions. “Your men text every hour to keep us informed.”

Unable to ignore the throbbing in my head, I rubbed the grogginess from my eyes and kissed my wife’s shoulder. “Where’s the boy?”

“In his room.” Her face looked pained. “I thought we had a breakthrough the night he tried to leave. We cried together. Held each other. But he hates me, Liam.”

“Logan doesn’t hate you.” My thumb circled her jutted out hipbone. “He’s testing my patience, though. I’ll give him that.” Throwing the duvet aside, I dragged my legs out of bed and stood on unbalanced feet. Allowing the blood to flow downward, I disregarded the soreness in my side and headed for the door. “Let me handle the insolent fucker.”

“Liam.” Alexa chased me down the hallway. “Get back to bed.” She seized my elbow, and I stopped respectfully but would not obey. “Logan’s scared of you. If you go in his room, you will only make matters ten times worse.”

“Affirmative.” My eyes toured her features. “Fear is the precession of what the boy requires.” Her eyes rounded as I walked ahead. “Stay out of it, Alexa. You will thank me later.”

Marching to the west wing, I belted my fist against Logan’s door, and when his ignorance persisted, I welcomed myself into his private space. He’s snoring on the new king-size bed, the navy sheets tangled between his legs, the faux fur throw blanket precariously hanging off the mattress.

My eyebrows stretched.

The last time I came into the guest bedroom, everything was stark white. Now, though, thick, plush threads carpeted the floors, and oak-panelled furniture lined the freshly painted walls. A top-notch entertainment system brimmed the wooden dresser, the dominating sixty-inch television mounted the wall opposite his bed, and boxed footwear collected dust in the corner.

I ripped the heavy floor-length curtains aside and the morning sun filtered through the window. The sharp rays had Logan’s eyes squinting. He groaned into the pillow I am about to lamp over his head and murmured something undetectable into the sheet.

Fuck his undisturbed slumber.

I stole the pillow out from under Logan’s head, and his eyes snapped open, but no sooner had he spotted me, the never-ending assault of cushion striking commenced. “What the hell?” His arms flew up to shield his face, protecting himself from the unremitting blows. “Alexa!” he called, and I whacked him again until his furiousness soared. “Warren, what the fuck? Stop,” I belted him, “hitting me!”

“Get up,” I ordered, and the lad scuttled off the bed in disorientation. “You disrespectful piece of shit.”

Logan’s back is fixed to the wall. Tousled black hair irritated his sleepy eyes, and sweat trickled down his flushed chest in dews. Fixing the overturned waistband of his boxer briefs, he folded his arms to conceal himself from my condemning eyes and frequently eyed the doorway in pursuit of Alexa. We mightn’t see the stealthy woman, but I know she’s out there eavesdropping to be sure I don’t bridge too far.

“I kindly provided a roof over your head,” I said bitterly, and his loathing stare returned. “I give you luxuriousness in abundance, and you spit it back in my fucking face.”

“Don’t act like you did me any favours.” Logan’s lips grimaced. “You killed my Ma.”

“Too fucking right, I whacked the bitch,” I said with indifferent callousness, and his stupefied glare honed. “Am I supposed to sympathise, lad? You know what I am. You saw what I did, and you came to Manor with me regardless.” I hurled the pillow onto the bed, and he flinched. “I am not here to beat you. That was your mother’s job, remember?”

His face turned ashen white.

“You hate me.” I shrugged uncaringly. “I would need to feel something for you to take umbrage to your fucking scorn. Alexa, however, cares too much. All the spineless, ungallant kids at the youth centre, and she chose you. Why? You are ungrateful. You are disrespectful. You. Are. Undeserving. My wife put food in your stomach, gave you free rein of the Manor and put clothes on your goddamn back, and shit’s her thanks. You don’t have the decency to acknowledge her kindness.” Fuelled by resentment, I booted the piled boxes, and brand-new trainers strewed across the carpet. He elevated his chin in pure derision. “You will pick those up. You will take a shower. You will be escorted by a member of the syndicate and attend high school—”

“I don’t go to school,” Logan interrupted, and my blood shot hot. “I dropped out.” His cheeks blotched in meek uncomfortableness. “You don’t understand. My Ma upset a lot of people. I got tired of running.”

The syndicate settled feuds between Roxanne and loan sharks; those men rot in unmarked graves alongside their errand bitches. Logan’s not in fear of his life. Even if inept gangsters wanted to kill the boy, they’d know better than to step on my toes. “You’re going to school.”

“You’re not listening to me,” he argued, and my footsteps towards the door faltered. “I am a fucking loner. I hate high school. Do you know what it’s like to sit alone all day, watching all the lads huddle in the canteen, laughing at your expense? Or, how it feels to be the standing joke of every girl who walks on by because they get a kick out of humiliating me? No, you couldn’t possibly understand how it feels to be me.” He glared sneeringly. “What’s the saying? He falls in shit and comes out smelling like roses? Yeah, that’s you in a fucking nutshell—”

“You better watch your mouth.” I got in his face, and he cringed. “Your arrogance insults me. If you want me to feel sorry for you, lad, you’ll need to do better than that. I am a product of neglect and abandonment. My father bounced the second he uncovered my mother’s pregnancy. And as for her, the bitch who chose heroin over her fucking son, I stopped giving a shit the moment I realised I meant nothing to them. I toughed it. I spent the majority of my childhood in and out of the system, being thrown and tossed from one foster parent to another because no one wanted me. The streets raised me,” I spat, and his brows drew in slightly. “You think I got here out of sheer luck? It was pain that made me the man I am today.” He listened intently. “The difference between you and me? I didn’t wallow in self-pity and wait for opportunities to fall at my feet. I was prepared to do everything to prove the world wrong.” I grabbed the towel from the folded pile on the armchair and slapped it against his chest. “Now, get in the fucking shower and get your ass to school.”

Logan left for school thirty minutes later.

I returned to the master bedroom and collapsed on the bed.

That’s where I stayed for the rest of the day.

***

“Afternoon, Mr Warren,” the district nurse sang, and I stuffed my head under the pillow. “Oh, don’t worry. I’ll only be here for a few minutes.” I heard latex gloves snap as she wriggled them over her fingers. “Will you roll onto your back for me, please? Let’s have a look at these sutures.”

“Can you prescribe anything for grumpiness?” Alexa jokes and my eyes rolled to the back of my head. “Liam’s impossible lately.” She lifted the pillow off my head and hurled it down the bed. I peered at her from beneath my arm, and honestly, her beauty, elegance, and infectious smile, I stopped breathing. “He bites my head off every time I pop in to see if he needs anything. It’s easier to leave him unaccompanied.”

I love my wife. “So dramatic,” I grumbled, moving onto my back to see two pairs of disapproving eyes. “What the fuck are you looking at?” I scolded the nurse, and her mouth fell open. “Well?”

“Well, indeed,” the voluptuous blonde chirped, plonking her backside on the bed to examine the damage. “Healing nicely. Most of the stitches have dissolved, but I’ll need to unfasten the staunches today.” When the nurse visited previously, she’d eliminated the bandages and authorised light showers. “You will feel slight pressure.” Cleaning the wounded area, she unzipped a leather pouch, unpackaged sterile tweezers and withdrew the first stitch. “Any discomfort?”

I slipped an arm under my head. “Do your worst.”

Alexa snuggled beside me. Resting her elbow by my head, she watched the nurse work in fascination. My finger curled hair behind her ear, a gentle touch of fondness, and she veered her attention to me, the pads of her fingers outlining my eyebrow as she peppered kisses to my jawline. “Are you hungry?” she asked, and I nodded, even though I had barely any room for fodder since my wife’s an overbearing feeder. If I declined, she’d forgo food, which wreaks distressing concerns. “I made homemade soup and bread.”

I masked dread. “I can’t wait.”

Alexa headed for the kitchen.

“All set.” The district nurse slipped off the gloves and signed a prescription for extra pain relief. “You can bathe now but only use unscented products for the time being.” Packing her leather handbag, she stood and beelined the exit. “I’ll see you next week—Mrs Warren,” she called, lingering in the hallway to converse with my wife. “Did you read the information I left the last time I visited?” I missed Alexa’s murmured response. “Only, I am a bit worried. Mr Warren’s showing signs of depression.”

Who made her a psychologist?

I am not depressed. I am fucking bored.

“Liam’s fine.” Alexa’s clipped voice tugged a smile to my lips. “My husband’s a hardworking man, and staying in bed all day, well, it’s taking its toll on him. But I can assure you, the second he’s back in the office, I will see a difference.” Her heels clicked over the threshold. “See yourself out.” Closing the door from prying eyes, she carried the tray to the bedside table and faffed with a glass of lemonade. “People irritate me.”

I sat straight and accepted the bowl of beef stew. Two meat chunks floated in the centre, one or two carrots and the occasional potato. We can clearly afford vegetables, but it seems my wife skimped on additional trimmings. I spooned a mouthful. Hot and spicy burnt my tongue. I feigned approval. “This is good.” Dipping overcooked bread into the watery stew, I sank my teeth into the crust and almost lost a tooth. “Fucking hell.”

“What?” Devastation rounded her eyes. “Did I do something wrong? More pepper next time?”

“It’s perfect.” I kissed her mouth, and she audibly sighed. “What spice did you use?”

“Oh, I read an article online.” Her fingers wrangled. “The blogger snubbed traditional soup, so I chopped up a few red chillies.”

For appeasing purposes, I cleared the bowl and set it aside. “Where are you going?” Alexa wears a skin-tight black dress and newly purchased Ralph and Russo Eden heels with rose gold leaves. “Looking like sin, I might add.” My cock stirred to life. He’s received zero action lately. “Why don’t you hike up the dress,” I said throatily, my lips touring her neckline, “and sit on my face.” My mouth salivated at the thought of my tongue teasing her cunt. “Fuck, I’m hard.”

“No,” she said futilely, biting her bottom lip from the sensation of my lips on her bobbing throat. “No sex. We must wait until you’re fully recovered, Liam.” Her hand touched my bare chest, warning me to stand down. “Besides, I have an appointment in forty-five minutes—”

“Appointment?” I asked, noting her calculated gleam. “What’s on the agenda, Mrs Warren?”

“If I tell you, you have to promise to stay calm.” She caught her bottom lip between her teeth. “I arranged a free consultation for a breast enhancement—”

“You did what?” Unstoppable ire peaked in a nanosecond. “It’s not happening, Alexa.”

“Liam…” Giving our debate thought, she shifted for me to climb off the bed. “Hear me out before you throw the rule book at my head. Look at me.” With an expression of self-loathing, she gesticulated to her flat chest. “Breasts should grow with age. Well, I guess I am the unfortunate sod who picked the short end of the straw. Mine have retreated. I sport twosome nipples, and it’s unsightly.” Her arms folded on her lap. “I do not doubt your love for me, not even for a second, but surely, you’d rather a shapelier woman—”

“Stop,” I berated, hating how she perceives herself. “Alexa,” I dropped to one knee before her, “I love you.” My palms cupped her face. “If augmenting your chest means that much to you, I will support your decision.” Hope brightened her eyes. “However, if you want to do this for my benefit? From a man who loves his wife regardless of her self-doubts, I would rather you didn’t.” I took her slender waist in my hands. “You are quite literally the most beautiful woman I have ever met.” My lips paid homage to the faded scar beneath her eye. “Who needs more than a handful? These,” I rasped, dragging my thumbs over her cotton-clad nipples, “fit perfectly in my hands. After everything we have been through, how can you not realise the effect you have on me?

Alexa smiled against my lips. “So, you don’t want big boobs?”

“I didn’t fall in love with you because you had a flawless physique or because you dominated a room with your confidence.” I held the nape of her neck. “I fell in love with you because when you entered my life, I couldn’t see beyond you,” I whispered to her red painted lips. “I remember thinking, what is about this girl? Why am I so drawn to her? Why am I always looking for her? Why could I imagine the unimaginable with her?” My thumb brushed her cheek. “I wanted to believe you were no different to any other woman. But you were different. You were everything I never knew I needed.”

Her chest rises and falls.

“I don’t need superficial, baby.” Gripping her fingers, I laid a promising kiss on her wedding ring. “I need the woman who stole my heart.”

“What if you change your mind?” Alexa touched her flushed neck. “What happens in ten, fifteen years’ time when age starts to kick in and—”

“In ten, twenty, thirty years’ time, I will love my wife just as much as I do right now.” My heart thudding in response, I brought her palms to my wounded stomach. “Flaws included, remember?”

She released the breath she was holding. “Well, I better cancel the consolation, then.” Her reserved expression softened. “Thank you, Liam.”

“Don’t ever thank me for loving you, Alexa.” I flipped her over, and she squealed. “Now, let’s address the sexy attire, Mrs Warren.” My palms smoothed the swell of her backside. “I might need to fuck you for such wickedness.”

“Liam!” Alexa rolled onto her back and glared. “Get your knee off the bed,” she cautioned, and I disobeyed, capturing her thrashing legs, wrenching them around my waist as I nestled between her thighs. “You are insane. The doctor issued a sex ban—”

My lips stole the words from Alexa’s mouth, and, at first, she denied me, mashing her lips together. Our tongues reacquainted. Prohibitions became an afterthought. Hiking the skirt of her dress to the waist, revealing delicate lace, I overpowered her stretched out body. Kissing her breathless, I freed my elongating cock from restrictions and stroked myself. “I want you,” I said throatily, and she lost the fight to deny me. “I’ll take it slow.”

“Fine.” Alexa’s arms enveloped my shoulders. “But I am doing all the work.” Onto my back, she put me, those sinful legs straddling my thighs. “Can I trust you to behave, Mr Warren?” Sliding her lace thong to the side, she peered down to watch herself engulf my readied length, and as she sank to the base, I bit back a groan, feeling the eagerness of my cock throbbing for the taking. “We might get lucky this time.”

Those unmindful yet offensive words stuttered my heart.

Dormant resentfulness reawakened. “Yes.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Liam

Brad’s prone to inhabit one of the guest rooms more often than not. Rousing from a peaceful night of rest, he swung by the office at the crack of dawn, freshly showered, clean-shaven and besuited for the day, to talk business with me before he ventured to Club 11 to meet Nate and the others.

It’s unusual for me to crave companionship; however, due to mind-numbing boredom, I stalled his departure as I was sick of my inner dialogue and looking at four walls. I was itching to go back to work, to hunt down the enemy and stain my hands with Italian blood.

Regrettably, Brad has yet to locate Alberto Moretti nor his loyal servants. He did, however, unearth a seedy dive bar under the proprietorship of Moretti’s cousin, Bernardo Russo. He’d paid a visit to the estranged relative and left unsatisfied. According to the head barman, Russo’s visiting family in Sicily. He had no knowledge of his boss’ flight schedule or if he planned to come home any time soon.

Detective Donny Stevens requested an hour of my time. He delivered stolen evidence from the heist case: mobile phones, random jewellery, firearms and leather wallets. Once I separated my possessions, I boxed the items that once belonged to my men, poured him a neat whiskey and got down to business.

Logan Broderick.

I signed a temporary residence order.

Alexa’s elatedness terminated reservations. For her happiness, I can overlook the boy’s impermanent presence.

I am not a dart aficionado.

Nonetheless, I purchased a Barrington board and solid gold darts. I screwed the fixtures to the back of the office door, stood by the mahogany desk and alternately threw darts until lack of concentration re-emerged.

I received a phone call from Jemma White, a clinical embryologist who’d read one of numerous emails I’d sent previously. We had an in-depth conversation concerning my wife’s condition. Jemma understood our frustration and advised that we attend a standard consultation to discuss infertility treatment. I accepted the first available appointment. Alexa’s none the wiser. It’s best to withhold possible procedures to avoid anxiousness.

I wandered the Manor with a sense of alienated ennui. As I had nothing better to do with my time, I relocated to the master bedroom’s walk-in wardrobe to reorganise suits.

Thanks to my domesticated wife, rearranging was hardly necessary. There wasn’t a cinch in the shirts. Leather shoes showcased behind glass units. Manscape products and colognes hoarded shelves in a particular order, and jewellery laid on beds of black velvet.

Opening the vanity table’s drawer, I fossicked miscellaneous items when something caught my eye. Forehead creasing in perplexity, I picked up the gold, onyx signet ring and felt a chill slither down my spine.

Raymond Warren’s name engraved the stone.

Why does Alexa have my father’s ring?

Moreover, why hasn’t Alexa brought this to my attention?

I amped up the overhead lights to brighten the room and thumbed the italic inscription on the ring’s inner band.

You are my missing piece -V.W.

Vincent’s close-lipped in musing. “You killed Evelyn Warren. The deceased cannot be a personal representative. Raymond knew the chance of him and his wife dying together was quite literally impossible, but he appointed another woman to administer his estate.” He clicked his tongue. “Just in case.”

“Another woman?” Murderous rage palpitated my heart. “What woman? Where can we find her?”

“Her name’s Valerie,” he informed me, and I waited for elaboration. “Find her, we cannot. She is dead.”

Mentally replaying the conversation about Ray’s Will with my brother, I stared at the ring with an air of incertitude. Something doesn’t add up. I trust my gut, and right now, it’s twisting into knots.

“Hey.” Beautifully windswept from her visit to the grocery store, Alexa appeared in the doorway. “What are you doing?”

I brandished the gold band. “Where did you get this?”

Alexa’s oddly sangfroid. “I found it the night I escaped Serena’s onslaught.” Plucking the ring from my hand, she twisted it between her fingers. “I didn’t know if it meant anything or if you’d even care for such an unsentimental finding, but I pocketed it anyway.” Her brows curved inwards. “At the time, you were a little worse for wear, so I placed it in the drawer with the intention of showing you at a later date. It must have slipped my mind.”

My arms crossed. “I presume it was a gift from Ray’s mistress.”

“Oh, the dead woman?” Alexa read the engraving. “What did Vincent say her name was again?”

“Valerie,” I said, recalling the conversation like it was yesterday.

“Valerie,” Alexa whispered as if to test the syllables on her tongue. “The one who never birthed any children. She died lonely and broke.” Her cheeks flushed. “I don’t recall her surname.”

I quickly jogged my memory. “Vincent only provided a forename.”

Alexa’s eyes zoned out in thought. “Did you ever look into her background?”

No, I was supposed to address the matter with Nate. “Not yet.”

“I will grab the laptop.” Dabbing sweat from her temple, she headed for the door. “Wait in the bedroom, Liam. I’ll be back in just a moment.”

Closing the vanity table’s drawer, I palmed the signet ring and returned to the master bedroom. I got comfortable on the bed. Alexa re-appeared minutes later, laptop tucked under one arm, a bottle of vodka in hand. She climbed onto the bed and settled cross-legged beside me. Loading the computer, she snapped a bobble off her wrist and tied her hair into a messy updo. “Okay,” she said whispery, her fingertips touring the keyboard. “So, going by the ring’s initials, it’s safe to start with Valerie.” She typed the name into the search bar. “I am not a computer whizz, but we can’t go far wrong with Raymond Warren and Valerie, right? I mean, something might come up.”

Having lost interest, I shrugged.

Alexa’s head inched closer to the screen. While she’s busy scouring pointless articles, I nuzzled my head on her thigh and curled my arms around her waist. Her closeness had a somniferous effect. I could quite easily fall asleep.

“Liam,” she said warily, and my one eye peeled open. “Raymond married before Evelyn.”

When I broke into my father’s house on Bill’s order, I logged into his computer and found articles online. I was too angry and confused to investigate further, but I read enough to determine he was the CEO of a telecommunications company, that he had one biological son and an ex-wife. “I know.” Had I cared enough to educate myself, I’d have uncovered Vincent sooner.

“Liam,” Alexa said in a strained voice, and I lifted my head to look at the screen. She pointed to an old image of the man I despised. A short, black-haired female with a neckline of pearls and a posture of ramrod elegance stood beside him. “I saw her.”

Alexa’s ambiguousness fried my brain. I sat up, took the laptop off her lap and planted it on mine. “I don’t recognise her.”

I read the small font underneath the image: Raymond Warren attends a pledge campaign with his wife, Valerie Wentworth.

My heart stopped.

I clicked onto the image and zoomed in on their faces. “When did you see this woman?”

Alexa struggled to make eye contact. “She came to the hospital—”

“As Vincent’s mother,” I snarled, and her lips grimaced. “How the fuck is that possible? He told me Raymond’s mistress was dead.”

“Liam.” A subdued sigh fell from her lips. “I don’t know what this means—”

“Likewise,” I barked, chucking the laptop on the floor. “The motherfucker.” Heat clambered my chest. I abruptly got off the bed and paced the room. “I need to get this right in my head.”

“Please, calm down.” Alexa’s in front of me in a flash, rubbing her palms up and down my arms. “Allow me to speak. I don’t know why Vincent kept this from you. Only he can answer these questions. If I were to guess, though, I’d say he knew you’d hunt her down, so he lied to protect her.” My mouth parted to speak, and she held her hand up. “Liam, it is his mother. He might love you, but he’s hardly going to stand back while you beat her to death.”

I laughed mockingly. “What makes you think I’d put my hands on the old bint?”

Alexa stared knowingly at me. “Well, now you know she’s alive and kicking. Will you visit?”

I offered silence.

“See!” She threw her hands up. “My point exactly.”

“I never claimed to be a saint,” I argued, and she waved a dismissive hand. “You know what I’m about. You still went and fucking married me.”

“You are lethal,” she retorted, crouching down to collect the laptop off the floor. “This is why people lie to you because they are terrified of your reaction.”

“Am I supposed to give a shit?” I gestured to myself. “I care not for Vincent’s mother, but she owes me a goddamn explanation.”

“Liam!” Alexa clutched the laptop to her chest. “If it weren’t for Valerie Wentworth, you’d be dead.”

Convinced my ears had deceived me, I stopped by the threshold, turned, and scowled at my flustered wife. “What did you say?”

Having lost the energy to quarrel, Alexa slumped onto the chesterfield sofa. “Were you aware of your rare blood type?”

Quietness thickened the humid air. “Rare blood type?”

“AB-Negative.” She chewed her thumbnail nervously. “Valerie’s donation saved your life. Her blood saved both of you.”

My heart threatened to burst out of my chest. “If you expect me to express gratitude, then you will be sorely disappointed.”

Her stare softened. “Liam—”

“Don’t,” I scolded, my blood running hot in my veins. “Don’t say it, Alexa. Keep those insinuations to yourself.”

Alexa wouldn’t be Alexa if she didn’t investigate insolently. “It’s obviously not the case because your mother died, right?” She wore an unconvinced expression. “It’s weird, though. Valerie’s AB-Negative, too, and she quite literally saved the day.”

“Are you listening to the words coming out of your mouth?” I asked confrontationally. “You unsubtly imply that Vincent and I might share the same mother.”

Her eyes grew huge. “I never suggested—”

“You didn’t need to,” I said angrily, and she sank back in regret. “I know you, Alexa. When you are too scared to breach a subject, you beat around the fucking bush. Valerie Wentworth is not my mother.”

“Then, who is?” Alexa shouted, pushing onto her feet to front me head-on. “Come on, Liam. It’s high time we had this conversation, don’t you think?”

“Alexa.” I gripped her upper arms. “Quit whilst you’re ahead.”

Primed for the challenge, she tilted her chin, her eyes dark and emotionless, prepared to argue her case. “Give me your mother’s name.”

My lip ticked at the corner. “I don’t have to answer to you.”

Her hand grasped my jaw, and she deliberately dug her fingernails into my cheeks. “You can’t answer,” she whispered, and I schooled my features. “Because you don’t know, right?” When I never responded, she tugged me in by the waistband of my jogging bottoms and pinned us chest to chest. “Here’s the ultimate question. What do you remember?”

My eyes lowered to the floor.

“Liam’s a damaged little boy,” she’d said. “But he only needs routine and love.”

The plump receptionist looked at me over the monitor edge, and I shot her an ugly face.

“Perhaps we can offer temporary fostering,” the man responded. “Until you find him permanent care.”

“I was six years old,” I said, recalling how the Irish couple returned me to Briar House seven weeks after agreeing to care for me. “I had upset the family. They’d kindly offered me a roof, and I refused to speak.”

Alexa’s fingers twitched on my jaw. “What family?”

“The first of many.” Kissing her inner wrist, I withdrew her clutches to my skin and laced our fingers together. “I could talk.” My face twisted in repugnance. “But I had no reason to.”

“What happened prior to them, Liam?” she prompted. “What do you see before the age of six?”

I waded through my subconscious mind. “Nothing.”

“Who told you that your mother died?” she delved deeper, and my walls began to close up. “At what age did you receive that information?”

“It’s there,” I spat, furiously tapping a finger to the side of my head. “It’s always been there, baby. I do not recall my mother. I couldn’t tell you if I look like her or if I inherited her unhinged tendencies. I don’t know where she lived or if her parents are still around. I don’t know her name, nor do I care for interpretation. I do, however, remember someone mentioning she was a prostitute who died from a heroin overdose.”

“Liam,” Alexa whispered in distress. “You prevaricate the question.”

“I can only tell you what I remember.”

“Which is nothing but your own cogitation.” Her hands cupped my neck. “When I lived in Flamur’s basement, I fabricated stories, too. It somewhat eased my suffering. I’d close my eyes, envision my mother in the garden, hanging washing on the line, yelling at me for dirtying my new white socks. I would even uphold conversations.” Her hitched breath fanned my cheek. “But it wasn’t real, Liam. Everything she ever said to me was a mere figment of my imagination.”

My head shook. “I did not fabricate my mother’s death.”

“Did you never think to look into your past?” She stepped back. “You have the resources to do so.”

“For what purpose, Alexa?” My voice was calm. “I spent many years crying myself to sleep because I didn’t understand. It took age, growth, power and great mental strength to overcome incognisance. Of course, I will never truly know why my mother chose drugs or why my father left and never looked back, but I accepted both a long time ago. How can there be closure if I live between the past and the present?” I unclenched my fist to reveal my father’s signet ring. “I refuse to kindle the emotions of a little boy.”

“That’s an excuse,” Alexa recited the very words I once cruelly used to prompt her memory. Her hand closed over mine, concealing the ring. “I think there’s a big chance Valerie Wentworth is your mother.” She put us shoulder-to-shoulder, and our heads turned in tandem. “My Liam would never shy away from the truth. He is fearless. He demands answers. Hell, he fucking deserves them.”

With those departing words, Alexa left me alone in the master bedroom.

***

Raymond’s ring stayed in my pocket for the rest of the day. Even though I would not allow my thought process to trudge down memory lane, I often lost myself in subjective reverie, replaying the heated conversation with my wife, mulling over her beliefs.

On three separate occasions, I sat behind my desk in the office and loaded the computer. I got as far as typing Valerie’s name before the rational voice inside the darkest valley of my mind protested.

Brad’s yet to arrive with takeout, so I went to the kitchen for a light snack. If I know Alexa, she’ll have stockpiled the fridge with unappealing baked goods. If the burnt biscuits are too unpalatable, I’ll settle for fruit.

Dripping in sweat from utilising the underground gym, Logan sits on a stool by the stonework island, tucking into an overflowing bowl of cereal. When he discerned my arrival, he paused with a spoon inches from his mouth.

Not hiding exasperation, I blew out a wearisome breath, strode past him to the fridge freezer and dipped my head to forage the shelves. With a container of raisin cookies in hand, I poured myself a triple shot of neat whiskey, pulled up a stool opposite the lad and scarfed down Alexa’s disastrous cooking.

Logan lost his appetite. In fact, he’s apprehensive about leaving the kitchen, but when he stands, I click my fingers, ordering him to sit. “I have homework,” he lied, reinstalling his backside on the stool, folding his arms sulkily. “I should get on that.”

“You should learn some manners.” Downing the alcohol in one, I savoured the fire flowing down my throat. “Alexa’s back at work next Monday. Will you accompany her?”

He reversed his black ball cap. “I have no reason to go there.”

“Alexa would appreciate your attendance.” Balancing a cigarette on my lower lip, I matched a flame and lit the end. “You will attend for her.”

His eyes rolled heavenwards. “Sure.” Watching cigarette smoke gyrate above my head, he reached for the unused ashtray under the counter and slid it towards me. “Where did you bury my Ma?”

I was unprepared for his question. “Does it matter?”

“I want to say goodbye.” He absently picked scabs off his knuckles, and I made a mental note to revisit the reason behind those cuts at a later date. “I should lay flowers or something, right?”

“As stated by society.” Pouring amber liquid into the crystal glass, I respired a slew of smoke. “I am not one to follow the rules. Personally, I would leave her to rot.”

“You barely even knew her.” Logan gave me a single-shouldered shrug. “Plus, you’re the reason why I will never see her again, so you wouldn’t feel empathy.”

He has so much to learn. “Any mother who’s willing to let her son repay her debts is unworthy of redemption. You have fought countless adversaries because of her piss poor decision making. Another teenager died while attackers tried to kill you.” His eyes closed in regret and mental anguish. “If I hadn’t intervened, you’d be Orville’s sex slave until he got tired of your self-despondent bullshit.” His eyes flicked open, and then he was fascinated by my cigarette. For someone who cares so much for the undeserving bitch, he shows, in my opinion, ungenuine emotions. “What’s that look? Do you smoke?”

His nose wrinkled. “No.”

“Good. If I catch you smoking, I will take a bat to your fucking knee caps.” Another shot of whiskey graced my throat. “I’ll forewarn you. If Alexa walks in and sees me drinking, she’ll threaten blue murder. You’re not supposed to consume alcohol while on medication, but it’s either I drink or get my suit on and walk out the door.” Why am I offloading onto a teenager? “In regard to Roxanne, I cannot provide a graveside. I could tell you where she decomposes. I won’t, though.” His mother’s at the bottom of the Thames with concrete blocks shackled to her ankles. He doesn’t need that image to invade his nightmares. “If you must honour her memory, go to church and light a candle.” When he didn’t reply, I peered up. “Why do you care for the woman?” I asked, knowing it’s a facade. “When I look into your eyes,” I added, and his blue hues darkened, “I see sheer hatred. Relief. You claim to mourn her, but you and I both know you are glad to see the back of her.”

“She was my mother,” he said tersely, standing to clear his bowl. “I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for her.”

Listening to Logan’s retreating footsteps, I stared into the bottom of the glass. Parking the cigarette on my bottom lip, I grabbed the whiskey bottle and found myself back in the office in front of the computer screen.

I typed Valerie Wentworth into the search bar.

An array of images clogged the browser. I don’t see myself in her almond-shaped eyes. Yes, in her younger photos, she’s modelling lustrous black hair, but then, my father, before the silvery comb-over, had black hair, or at least he did in the photograph I found of him and Bill in the Caribbean.

I proceeded to slide through images. Once Raymond divorced Valerie, it’s almost as if she disappeared off the face of the earth.

Evelyn Warren replaced Ray’s former wife.

I exited the screen and hovered a finger over the keypad. If I amended the search, typed my name alongside Valerie’s, what would I bring to light?

If Valerie Wentworth birthed two sons, then I need to hear it first-hand. I need her to admit it in front of me.

Dialling Reginald Burton’s number, I set the phone to my ear.

Three rings later, he answered, “Warren?”

“Where’s Donny?”

“He’s out on the floor,” he said cautiously. “Is everything okay?”

“I need an address for Vincent’s mother,” I explained, frequently checking the door to ensure no one stood there. “Her name’s Valerie Wentworth. Not a word to the detective.”

“Of course.” He fumbled with what sounded like a filing cabinet. “I got nothing on the name Valerie Wentworth. I do have three houses belonging to Vincent, though.”

I snubbed my cigarette in the ceramic ashtray. “Which one lacks grandeur?”

“The quintessential farmhouse in Totteridge green. Do you want me to send a copy to your email?”

“Yes.” Ending the call, I clicked on the mail app and waited impatiently for Reginald’s email. The notification buzzed. I opened the file, briefly scanned the address and tucked my phone in my pocket.

In record-breaking time, I showered, dressed in a black tracksuit and headed for the front door with the Bentley keys in hand.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Liam

I wasted six hours of my life hunting for the old-fashioned farmhouse in Totteridge Green. I stumbled upon plentiful residential buildings, but Vincent’s concealed property laid in mystification. While imbibing takeaway coffee from behind the Bentley steering wheel, facing the incarnadine sunrise, the crisp morning air, a soft breeze through the open window, I contemplated my brother’s serpentine underhandedness. Vincent’s betrayal hurt indelibly. I had a painful, unswallowable lump lodged in my throat. I thought he was different. I thought he and I were cut from the same cloth.

He’s no better than the other contemptible family members I purged.

Presently, I stand by Vincent’s bedside with my hands tucked inside my pockets. Doctors weaned him off the ventilator, so he breathes unaided. He’s yet to open his puffy eyes, though. He had an ashen-faced complexion and dry, chapped lips that respired imperceptible shallow breaths.

I got comfortable next to him, draping a hand towel over my thigh, and flipped open the switchblade. Sweeping strands of lengthy black hair off his brows, I grabbed the shaving cream and lathered his unkempt beard with the soapy substance. Then, with the blade’s sharpest point, I shaved carefully with the direction of his scraggly shadow, alternately wiping remnants across the towel until he’s smooth-faced and beardless.

Tossing used items in a carrier bag, I double knotted the handles, ready for the bin, and reached for the bowl of warm water. I wring the doused washcloth to avoid excess suds and put the fabric to my brother’s jaw, catering to his needs, if you may.

“It is an unforgivable sin to whisper misinformation.” I stuffed the switchblade in my pocket to stop myself from hacking out his tongue. “You lied to me, Vincent. I trusted you, and you lied. Do you have any idea how much your betrayal wounds me? I thought,” I said hoarsely, licking dryness from my lips. “I thought you cared.”

Rising from the bed, I moved to the rain-splattered window and stared into nothingness. “I never made it easy for you to enter my life. If truth be told, I had hoped you were a deluded opportunist and that our siblingship test results were inconclusive. I was unfortunate. You were my half-brother, so I was forced to comprehend why this revelation hurt in more ways than one. I had lived a life without you, which left a bitter taste in my mouth. I never knew I could resent the man we call father anymore until I realised he’d taken yet another part of me. He stole what should have been years of me taking care of you. Protecting you.” My throat tightened. “Loving you. I was supposed to be there, Vincent. That’s my job as a big brother.”

I cleared moisture from my eyes. “That wasn’t my life, though. I met many people who touched a part of my soul, who will forever have a place in my heart, but ultimately, I walked alone. I learnt from a very young age not to trust because trust leads to disappointment, and rejection makes you feel worthless. I was tired of thinking I am not good enough; I don’t deserve to be here; I am a mistake; I don’t understand my purpose or my pathetic existence.

“When I killed Raymond Warren, something inside me changed for the better. I felt powerful, satisfied and relieved. I had accomplished more in that instant than I had in fifteen years of breathing. The process of healing,” I whispered, kneading the ache in my chest. “For every soul, I drained, piece by piece, I mended the heart of a broken boy. I stopped living in his shoes and drowned out his sad voice until detachment possessed whatever humanity I had left.

“Fuck, it felt good.” A low smile twitched my lips. “For the first time in my life, I could put myself first. Gone were the days of starvation, window shopping, sleeping on the streets, washing in filthy lakes and wearing second-hand clothes. If I wanted to eat the finest meal on the menu, I could afford it. If I wanted to buy a five-thousand-pound suit, just because I can, I would go into the store and come out with twenty.”

I wiped condensation across the window. “You can’t buy a family, though.” My gaze cast to the floor. “You can’t buy unconditional love or genuine companionship. If you chuck enough cash at someone, they’ll swear fealty, but they can never replace the ones who share your blood.

“People think I am heartless. I am not heartless. If anything, when I care, I care too fucking much. And when I love, I love with everything I have because it’s all I ever wanted.” To be loved, I thought. “When in the eyes of others, I deliberately speak monosyllabically. Lately, I can bear my soul to my wife. Today, although you hear nothing, I wear my heart on my sleeve. I share with you something I have never admitted aloud. I don’t hate my parents for leaving me. I hate them for not finding me.”

Inhaling a deep breath, I turned to face my brother. He’s awake now, his glassy eyes mirroring mine. I was inwardly unprepared, but did well to mask surprise. “Back then, I was an impressionable boy. If my father found me before I found him, I’d have fallen to my ass and pleaded for a second chance. If my mother,” I added, and his fingers on the bed twitched, “sat beside me on that park bench and put her arm around me, I’d have begged her to take me home.”

I crouched by the bed and put us eye-level. “My mother died, right?” I croaked, and his fearful gaze widened a fraction. “She died before I even knew what it meant to have a mother.” His heart rate accelerated on the electrocardiogram machine. “She wasn’t out there, living, breathing, reproducing, knowing she’d tossed me to the curb like an unwanted animal. She didn’t go on to have another son.” His thick, black eyelashes fluttered, and a tear snuck from the corner of his eye. “Valerie didn’t keep two brothers apart, did she, Vincent?”

“Liam,” he said scratchily, his regretful countenance confirming the unthinkable. With stagnant energy, he lifted his hand and grasped the nape of my neck. “I’m sorry, brother.”

It felt as though my heart had been ripped out of my chest. “I wanted you to prove me wrong.” My voice was a mere whisper. “But you are just like them,” I spat in devastation. “What do you have that I didn’t?” Soaring to my full height, I flattened a hand over his nose and mouth, cutting off his air supply, and his wet, imploring eyes protruded. His head shaking vigorously beneath my palm, he clutched my wrist, his fingernails denting my skin, and mumbled something indistinct. I applied pressure, reciprocating the breach of trust, but when I caught his low admission of solicitude for someone other than himself, I withdrew my arm, put my ear to his mouth and waited.

Intermittently snatching in stuttered breaths, Vincent palmed my cheek, his hand shaking, and thumbed the tear from my jawline. “If killing me,” he said breathlessly, “is what it takes for you to forgive me, then do it. I never lied to hurt you. I lied because I love the woman you hate.” My head cocked, and our eyes collided. His mouth opened and closed as he strived to speak. “Valerie Wentworth deserves your bitterness. She doesn’t deserve mine. She raised me. If you hurt her, then you hurt me. I love her. I will always love her.” He pulled our foreheads together, and my tears of abject sadness dripped onto his cheeks. “But I love you more,” he whispered. “Our parents failed us. We don’t have to fail each other.” He weaved our fingers together in a tight grip. “If you ask me to choose, it’ll be you. Every. Single. Time.”

My eyebrows connected in confusion. “You’d let her die to keep me?”

He nodded idly.

I searched his eyes for deceit. “Why?”

Vincent forced a low, knowing smirk. “You’re my brother.”

It hurt to breathe. “Just like that?”

“Just like that,” he reaffirmed, struggling to keep his eyes open. “You feared the rejection of others.” His breathing evened out. “I live with that same fear every day. Nothing scares me more than existing without you. I know you don’t feel the same, and I doubt you’ll ever hold me in the same regard as you do with Brad, but this, you and me, talking, it’s enough.”

I pressed a firm kiss to the frown between his brows. “I do love you.” My ring-laden fingers grasped his hair by the roots, and his eyes crept open. “Do you think I’d have tolerated so much bullshit from you if I didn’t?” Our smiles matched. “You’re a pain in my fucking ass, Vincent. I guess you are overcompensating for lost time, huh?”

“Well,” he rasped, jerking one shoulder, “you are not a walk in the park.”

“I try my best.” My cheeks ached from smirking so hard, but just as quickly, my smile disappeared. “I’m ready to listen, Vincent.”

His Adam’s apple bopped. “What do you want to know?”

I sat beside him. “Everything.”

“Oh,” said the eccentric nurse from in the doorway. “He’s awake. Let me get the doctor—”

“Get the fuck out,” Vincent chastised groggily, and she jerked back in horror, fingers on her rounded mouth. “I am spending time with my brother. It’s a rare occurrence. Your doctor can wait.” Outraged by his coldness, she made herself scarce, and he mustered an eye roll. “I am straight.”

I laughed once. “I’m uninterested in your sexual orientation.”

“Your men believe I am bisexual, and I allow it because I enjoy Brad’s displeasure.” He cleared his throat. “She never told me about you,” he said quietly, and I veered my irritated scowl to the window. “The night we broke into Ray’s house, and I saw her name on his Will, I drove straight to my…” He refrained from calling her mother in front of me. “It was a long night.”

I rotated my thumb ring. “Did she admit to birthing the two of us?”

Pulling a regretful face, he said, “No, she denied it.”

I gave him a subtle head shake.

“I knew she was lying, though.” He rubbed his temples. “The eyes never lie.”

“Correct.” A choppy breath respired from my lips. “It’s odd. I have so many questions. Questions that only she can answer, yet I refuse to give her consideration.”

His head dipped in understanding. “If you change your mind, I can take you there.”

“For your sake, I must stay away from Valerie Wentworth,” I said, and he perceived the promising threat in my authoritative voice. “I killed our father for less, Vincent. I cannot trust myself not to dismember every part of her body.”

***

I found a note on the kitchen island when I returned to the Manor. Alexa prepared chicken salad for me before trekking to the high street with Alfie to purchase a new dress and shoes for her get together with Jace and Grayson this weekend.

Opening the fridge door, I extracted her plated generosity, forked a few mouthfuls and washed leafy greens down with ice water. It’s late afternoon, and she and I hadn’t made plans for our evening meal, so I scraped leftovers in the bin to save room in my stomach and ventured to the office to check emails on my laptop.

Two hours of working from home later, an untouched glass of bourbon on my desk, I switched off the computer and leaned back in my leather chair, emotionally drained from visiting Vincent. He and I had so much to discuss, but for now, while he’s on the mend and I am mentally unwired, I will concentrate on business, reobtaining the diamonds and fulfilling my wife’s desire for pregnancy.

I scoffed into the glass.

Alexa’s always had a compulsive sexual appetite. Even when she was sexually inexperienced, with one touch, she had me in the palm of her hand. I could never say no to the woman, not that I wanted to reject her, but lately, her mentioning fertility within seconds of us making love, it’s putting the functionality of my cock to the test.

I miss Alexa’s quenchless passion.

I miss the adoration in her eyes when she’s sprawled out beneath me.

I miss how she craved sex for love, not for the possibility of impregnation.

The whiskey warmed my throat. I licked the sharp taste from my lips and set the glass onto the desk with a quiet thump.

If I talked to Alexa, she’d be apologetic and promise to be considerate in the future. I am blameworthy for her condition, though. If it weren’t for the scorned Brown twins and Serena, the certifiable half-sister, infertility would not be an issue for my wife.

No, I will keep my damn mouth shut. I won’t upset Alexa by expressing my true feelings. I can be patient and wait for her to come back to me.

I hear unremitting banging in the distance.

My ears perked up to listen.

Shoving the chair back to stand, I rounded the desk and walked barefoot down the hallway, following the sound underground. At first, I thought someone occupied the theatre room, but I realised the cyclical racket echoed from the gym as I closed in.

Logan practices a combination of jabs on the hanging punching bag. He’s worked up a sweat. Perspiration sticks to his skin and drips from his forehead.

Resting a shoulder on the door frame, I folded my arms and crossed my legs at the ankles, intrigued by his purposeful workout. With each jab, he winces, biting back pain, it seems. I glanced at his cracked knuckles. “You need to wrap those up,” I instructed, and he stumbled upon the invasion of privacy. “Too much damage from your last fistfight.”

His bare chest squared as he wrestled for breath. “People don’t walk around with tape in their pockets.”

“Indeed.” At the steel workbench, I cracked open the first aid kit and wielded white tape. “Wise people don’t normally get their arses kicked, though.” I clicked my fingers, and he begrudgingly dragged his legs forward. “Arms out,” I ordered, and he unlocked his elbows, exhibiting two sore, ruptured fists. “You cannot train with open wounds.” Binding taped around his bloodied knuckles, I tore the seam and secured it to his palm. “While they heal, tape them up.”

Logan nodded curtly.

“Well, go on.” I tossed the tape reel back into the box. “Fuck off.” Huffing out a theatrical sigh of exasperation, he went to the punching bag, rolled tension from his shoulders and, with his thumbs tucked inside his balled-up fists, laid into the bag. “What the fuck is that?” He flung me an intolerant look. “Unless you want to break your thumbs? Uncage them.”

“Fuck’s sake.” Fixing his thumbs, he raised his hands in line with his chest and ineffectively attacked the bag.

It was painful to watch. His feet hardly moved across the mat. The heavy-duty chain elevating the tattered punching bag barely squelched. Yet, he’s exhausted. If an actual person stood before him, he’d be on his ass by now. “This is fucking embarrassing.”

His arms drooped at his sides. “I never asked your opinion.”

I overlooked his disrespect—for now. “How did you bust the knuckles? Got into it with a wall, huh?”

“Whatever.” He wiped trickling sweat off his brow. “Look, if you are going to stand there and ridicule me, I will leave. I am not in the mood.”

I seized his elbow, and his back straightened. “I don’t like repeating myself.”

“I told you already.” He stared at the floor dejectedly. “I am not overly liked at school, so I have to fight them off every now and then.”

Studying the light bruising on his upper cheek, I asked, “More than one?”

He shrugged non-committedly.

Eyeing the bag in contemplation, I gave it a firm push, the chain groaning, and dodged in time for it to swing between us. “Your opponent moves,” I tell him. “He doesn’t stand there, defenceless, waiting for you to lay into him. The same rule applies to you. If your attacker steps up and gets in your face, you don’t wait around to see what’ll happen next. Instead, you take his pugnaciousness as an invitation.” I lunged the bag towards him, and when it crashed into his chest, I cleaved my tongue to stop myself from delivering a harsh lambasting. “Is there something wrong with you? You didn’t even attempt to shield your face.” Cheeks blushing in a deep crimson, he looked away to mask humiliation. “Right or left?”

Logan blinked. “What do you mean?”

“I can fight ambidextrously, but I am more powerful with my right arm.” His right fist automatically clenched. “Okay, so when you stumble into confrontation, and you know it’s his face or yours, you don’t hesitate. You keep these fists,” I raised his taped-up knuckles to shield his face, “up here. We can do great damage with these knuckles, but throwing a punch means nothing if you don’t drive forward. Overpowering dominance comes from these.” I squeezed his upper arm. “You have an advantage. You are tall and sinewy. You lack confidence, though, so you need to work on that. If your right arm is stronger, ensure you use it to your fullest advantage.” Left fist shielding my face, I slowly demonstrated, overturning my right fist as I extended my arm. “You see? Throwing aimless punches will cost you. Drive from the shoulder down. Keep your wrist straight while maximising the force.” I gestured to the bag. “Show me.”

Fists protecting his face, Logan assessed the bag, threw a pathetic jab and then looked at me for appraisal.

I clasped a hand to my mouth and glared at him from under hooded brows. “You are not ready. If that’s how you fight, then it’s no wonder you come out of a situation scathed. Forget everything I said. Punch the bag. Full throttle. Just once.”

Understandably puzzled, Logan’s eyes caged his opponent and, in rapid determination, slammed his fist into the bag. It nudged to the left marginally. “Well?” he mused. “What do you think?”

“Powerless,” I answered honestly. “Build upper body strength if you want a fighting chance in life. Start with the multi gym to increase muscle tone. In regard to bullies, if you can’t fight them off physically, then do it verbally. There is nothing more formidable than a vitriolic tongue. You find out what hurts and rip the cunt to shreds with words.”

Logan looked stricken. “How do I find out what hurts?”

I blew my cheeks out. “Give me a name.”

His eyes turned into slits. “Why?”

“Just give me a fucking name.”

“Christ, calm down.” He rubbed his chin. “Uh, Joseph Patterson.”

I mentally rummaged through folders, and the club owner from York Way raised a red flag. “Jimmy Patterson’s son?”

“I think so?” He scratched the back of his neck. “Joseph’s mum works in a bakery. He has three sisters, too.”

I know the guy. I can make the call tonight and put an end to Logan’s misery. He needs to learn how to stand on his own two feet, though. “Next time Joseph squares up?” I snatched the lad by the throat and, nose to nose, I put us. “You get in his fucking face. Tell him to pipe down, or else you will tell the entire school that Jimmy Patterson has a proclivity for anal bashing on weekends. If you need more ammunition? Give him the name Andy Spriggs. He’s the cross-dresser currently warming Patterson’s bed.”

Logan gawks owl-eyed. “Is that true?”

“No, I made it up for shits and giggles.” Before I released him from my clutches, I clipped around the back of the head. “Of course, it’s bastard true. If I say it, I mean it. I’m a straight shooter.”

He massaged the ache from his head. “How do you know the guy?”

I make it my job to know all the club owners within the London Borough. “It’s none of your business.” I almost left the gym when I heard him mumble behind my back. “What did you say?”

“Thank you,” Logan said, not looking at me as he uncapped bottled water. “I’ll work on those weights tonight.”

I gave him a tight, refrained smile and ambled down the hall to the sound of weights clanking together. I ascended the stairs, hearing Alexa’s loud, contagious laughter echoing in the kitchen.

By the refrigerator, she stands. I know Alfie’s chortling from the seating area in the adjacent diner, but with Alexa in a skin-tight black dress, revealing the intricate angel wings tattooed to her back and the flimsy material, which scarcely covers her ass, I saw nothing but the burning colour of red. “What the fuck are you wearing?”

Alexa jumped back from the fridge like something was about to leap out. “Liam.” She slapped a hand to her chest. “You almost gave me a heart attack.” Dark, sleek hair fell down her back, not a curl in sight, and six-inch fuck-me heels elevated her long, sexy legs. “Grayson brought the date forward, so I am meeting the guys tonight instead.”

“Get out,” I barked, and Alfie raised from the sofa and excused himself from the room. “If you want to meet friends, go upstairs and change into a different dress—”

“No.” She poured straight vodka into a tall glass. “I am in love with the dress, Liam. Quit acting like a caveman and wish me a good night instead.”

My nostrils flared. “Where’s the bra?”

Her eyebrows waggled mischievously. “I don’t need one, remember?” She sipped from the glass. “Liam, for goodness sake. I am really excited. I haven’t seen my friends in what feels like forever. Please, I don’t want to leave the Manor under a dark cloud.”

Alexa’s eyes locked on me as I prowled towards her. She was equipped for an argument. Her chin tilted, anticipating my tongue lashing.

Not tonight, baby. I dipped my head to kiss the feminine line of her shoulder. “You look beautiful,” I said hoarsely, lifting her onto the stonework counter. I craned my neck, and she lowered her lips to mine for a soft, unhurried kiss. “If a man so much as breaths in your direction tonight…”

“Liam,” she half-scolded, wrapping her lustrous legs around my waist. “Not everyone sporting cock wants to choke me with it.”

My face became murderous. I seized her jaw. “I will kill.”

“You are incorrigible.” Her red lips stretched into a wicked smile. “Yes, I know of your capabilities. Yes, I will tell you if someone’s inappropriate. And yes, I will come home tonight and,” she cupped me between the legs, and my uncontrollable shaft stirred, “show you some love if you promise to behave for me.”

“Why wait until later?” Tugging her hair around my fist, I yanked her head back to run my tongue up her throat. “I can give it to you right now,” I growled into her mouth, artfully hiking the dress to her waistline. Inhaling her sweet perfume, I sank my teeth into her neck and suckled. “Christ, I am so fucking in love with you.”

“Liam.” The heels of her shoes dug into my backside. “I—”

“Alexa?” Logan called, and her head whipped up so fast she caught me in the nose.

The shooting pain was eye-watering. “Fucking hell,” I snapped, using my fingertips to examine for blood. “You almost broke my goddamn nose.”

Tugging her dress down, Alexa slipped off the counter, palming the bright love bite I just stamped on her neck. “In here,” she called out, and the lad peered around the doorway. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah.” If Logan heard our lewdness, he didn’t show it. “Is it okay if I order a pizza?”

“Absolutely.” Alexa unclipped her clutch purse. “How much do you need?”

“Put it away.” I uprooted my wallet and thumbed through fifty-pound notes. “Order extra, lad. Brad’s due to land, and he’s a fat bastard.”

“Okay.” Logan fumbled with his phone. “Alexa, do you want anything?”

“Nope, I am en-route to town to get slaughtered,” she joked, and I swallowed disapproval. Pushing off the balls of her feet, she planted a kiss on my cheek and swayed to the exit. “If you need anything,” she said to Logan, “text me. I will come home instantly.”

Alfie’s already in the hallway to escort her to whatever dive bar Grayson’s unearthed.

My wife’s itching to throw her arms around the young boy, but she settled for a hand-squeeze instead. “I’ll see you in a few hours.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Alexa

I slipped between mobs of loudmouthed, hard-drinking socialisers and carousers, veering to the long-stretched wood-topped bar. I saw virtually nothing through omnipresent cigarette and marijuana smoke. Wafting fumes out of my face, I squeezed between two unapproachable giants, both of whom wore disgruntled expressions and had tattoos on every inch of skin, including their chins, cheeks, foreheads and ears, and waved down the green-haired barman.

Ogre to my right held bottled beer with skull-ringed fingers. He pulled a long sip, his engine-red leather jacket sticking to my arm, and side-eyed me, or perhaps he’s silently conversing with the bald beast to my left, who is currently examining the diamond rings on my fourth finger.

“What can I get you?” the barman shouted over the loud rock music. His head resembled nitid asparagus sticks. Metal fringed his full lips. Customised silver grills veneered his teeth. “I ain’t got all night, lady.”

“I, vodka?” Jesus, Alexa. Quit ogling. You are acting like a judgmental dimwit. “Yes. Vodka. Russian. Can I buy the bottle? Two glasses.”

“Whatever.” Whipping a black tea towel over his shoulder, he snagged bottled vodka from under the counter alongside two tumbler glasses and manually tapped the cash register. “Thirty-eight.”

I slid two twenty-pound notes across the tacky bar top. “Thank you.”

“You gonna finish the whole bottle?” Ogre plucked up the glass as if to request an invite. “I am good company—”

Alfie obtained the glass. “I’m her company,” he said with a dark, threatening edge, and my teeth detained my upper lip to cease grinning. His eyes never leaving the cold-faced metalhead, he gathered my belongings and hand gestured for me to lead the way. “Always compromised, Ma’am.”

Inharmonious music vibrated under my feet. “I am a glutton for trouble.”

“I concur.” Alfie peered over the sea of headbangers. “Where to escort you, Ma’am? I will blend into the background.” He held out the glasses. “You won’t even know that I’m here.”

“Nonsense.” Uncapping the bottle, I poured strong liquor into the glasses, took one for myself, and left him with the other. “You can join the fun, Alfie. My friends are awesome. You will love them.” His lips pressed together in a tight line. “What’s the look?”

“One, I am not allowed to lower my guard whilst protecting the boss’ wife. Two, it would be careless to drink on the job. Three, Mr Warren expresses a poor opinion of Mr Williams. Four, I am loyal to Mr Warren and the syndicate, so fraternising with the friend in question is disloyally unjust.”

I blinked owlishly. “Well, that’s a lot of irrational pointers.”

Alfie’s cheeks dusted pink.

God, I love this man. He’s cute for a big old brute.

“I demand that you sit with me,” I said sternly, and his mouth parted. “And have fun. And drink. And socialise. Hey, I even permit you to dance.” Before he could decline, I clanked our glasses. “Technically, I am your boss. Not Liam. Enjoy yourself.”

He shifted from one foot to the other. “Mr Warren pays me to take care of you, Ma’am.”

“Collaborative finances,” I pointed out. “What’s mine is his, and what’s his is mine. We share money. Now, let’s find my friends so that you can scare them with your neck tattoo.”

“I hardly doubt I can scare anyone in a place like this.” Spurning the dive bar’s squalid interior, he traipsed in my footsteps, inattentively touching the cursive ink on his neck.

“What does it mean?” I indicated to his skull-piece.

His hand lowered. “Why do you assume it means anything?”

“Do people permanently ink unmeaningful art on their skin?”

“I did.” He offered a humoured smile, and when he noted my undying curiousness, he sighed. “I have horrendous acne scars from pubescence. I had to cover it.” He briefly locked eyes with a passing male. “I selected the first design presented by the tattooist.”

“Fair enough.” I see a silver button-down shirt. “I found them.” Grayson prances by a round table in ostentatious glamour, fake leather pants, sparkly jewellery and newly dyed grey hair to match the shirt. “I am so excited. It’s pathetic.”

Alfie sipped vodka whilst skulking behind me. Jared, Shane, Harlyn and a few other unrecognisable faces packed the leather booth. Jace’s nowhere to be seen, though. “Ah!” Grayson squealed, jumping up and down on the spot. “Do my eyes deceive me? I was almost sure you’d bail on us at the last minute.”

“Not tonight.” I smiled as his arms hauled me in for a long, tight hug. “You look great.”

“You too, doll,” Gray whispered in my ear, his hand getting a squeeze of my backside. “Okay, let’s get the introductions over. You know these muppets.” He motioned to Jace’s roommates. “That’s Becky and Janette. They replaced you losers down at the Coffee House.”

I shook both of their hands. “It’s lovely to meet you.”

“That’s Burger.” Gray pinched the man’s chubby cheek. “And this handsome fella,” he chimed proudly, leaning down to plant an affectionate kiss to his shadowed jaw, “is Arthur. My boyfriend. Go ahead and tell me how awesome I am for pegging a doctor.”

“Oh, my God.” I moved in to shake the man’s hand, but he stood to give me a friendly hug instead. “Arthur, how do you cope?”

He flashed me a neat set of pearly white teeth. “He wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

“Excuse me?” Gray draped his arms over our shoulders. “I don’t recall that version of the story, Arthur. Do enlighten us.”

Arthur looked at Grayson like a man in love, and I melted. His loving eyes softened behind black-framed bi-focal glasses. “He’s right.” Correcting his skewed bowtie, he nursed a half-filled tumbler. “I buy coffee every morning before work, and, well, I was smitten with the manager.”

Grayson grinned like a Cheshire cat. “That would be me.”

I laughed. “Just stating the obvious.”

“Hell, yeah.” Grayson’s hand latched on to his lover’s shoulder. “Who’s your friend?”

Shit. I completely forgot about Alfie. “He is my…Alfie.”

“Your…Alfie?” Grayson snorted and then, under his breath, told Arthur, “She’s unhinged.”

My chin hit the deck. “I heard that.”

“You were supposed to.” Gray outstretched his arm to give Alfie a gentle handclasp. “Nice to meet you, Alexa’s Alfie. I hope you like cocktails because you can’t stay here if you don’t.”

“Grayson,” I scolded, and he winked. “Ignore him. He’s not from our planet.”

“It’s fine.” Alfie pulled out a rickety wooden chair opposite Shane and delved straight into friendly conversations.

I nearly claimed the chair next to Alfie when strong, tattooed arms locked around my neck and a solid chest pressed to my back. “Alexa,” Jace breathed in my ear, and I slacked against him. “You look incredible.”

“Jace.” I spun around fast, and the vodka splurged onto my fingers. “Hey,” I whispered, and forest green eyes homed in on my face. “I missed you.”

Keeping me in his hold, Jace lowered his forehead to mine and kissed the tip of my nose. “Likewise.” His voice was low and rough. “We got the whole gang together tonight. Don’t leave early.”

I held my pinkie up. “If I don’t wake up tomorrow, hungover, naked and surrounded by greasy leftover kebabs, then I didn’t have a good night.”

His little finger curled around mine. “Sounds disgusting.”

I dropped my head to his chest and laughed.

“You better drink up,” Grayson suggested, and my eyebrows curved. “We’re not staying here, Alexa. Cheap and cheerful to start, but there’s a new club open downtown. I hear it’s off the charts.”

“What? I only just got here.” Plus, I will not waste the vodka. “Fine. You better hide the bottle somewhere in those pants because I am not leaving it behind.”

Grayson stuffed the vodka bottle down his leather trousers, giving himself an unrealistic looking bulge. “Hey, handsome.” His eyebrows danced. “What do you think?”

Arthur’s brows jumped. “No.”

“Where did you go?” Tall, blonde and devastatingly beautiful grabbed Jace’s hand. “I waited for you on the dancefloor.”

I am dreaming.

Jace perceived my confusion. “Alexa, this is Charlotte.” The woman eyed me from head to toe. “My girlfriend.”

Flummoxed, I stuttered, “Your—what?” No, Jace did not snag himself a girlfriend and forget to tell me. “You never mentioned a girlfriend. And since when?” My shock came across as impolite, so I slapped on a fake smile. “Sorry, I am just stunned. Jace never mentioned you before.”

“No?” Her nose wrinkled. “He has never mentioned you before, either.”

I suddenly felt uncomfortable. “I’m Alexa. Jace’s best friend.”

“I’m Charlotte,” she re-introduced herself. “Jace’s girlfriend.”

“Are you ready to leave?” Grayson interjected, and I was grateful. “Come on, Charlotte. You can use that glorious ass of yours to get us free entry.”

Charlotte flung long, glossy blonde hair over one shoulder. “I am sure we can afford entry fees.”

Jace’s stare piledrives into me. Yet, I couldn’t look at him, or speak, or even exist in that staggering moment. I am happy for Jace. Him meeting a woman, moving on from Lucy and settling down, it’s all I have ever wanted. I would be lying if the unexpectedness hadn’t knocked the air from my lungs, though.

Jace scratched his jaw. “I sort of hinted at the wedding.”

I do recall him mentioning a female interest before we left the hotel.

She’s pretty, he’d said.

It’s not serious.

I think she might be different, though.

“I am happy for you,” I said genuinely, and we embraced each other for another hug. “If she breaks your heart, though.”

“I know,” he said gravely. “You will snap her fingers. I get it.”

I tapped his back. “I’m glad we understand each other.”

“It’s party time, people.” Jared slapped a test tube style shot on my upward facing palm. “Get these down, Alexa. Lethal.”

I popped the seal and downed the vilest tasting alcohol known to mankind. “That’s disgusting.” I burped, and Charlotte pulled a face. “Sorry, I have no control over involuntary belching.”

“Right,” she said tightly, tugging on Jace’s tight fitted T-shirt. “Let’s go, babe.”

***

Partygoers jam-packed Eclectic. Unpredictable strobe lights, which effectively put everyone in slow motion, blinded me every ten minutes. As a result, I am sweatier than someone who has hyperhidrosis, and my once straight hair semblances a wild bird’s nest atop my head. Spilt alcohol sticks to my shoes, and somehow luminous beads took ownership of my neck.

I relieved my bladder for the umpteenth time tonight, wiped, pulled the flush and swung open the cubicle door. Turning on the cold tap, I washed my hands in the basin. In the mirror’s reflection, I espied Harlyn perched on the marble counter. Her black shirt threatens to expose her lady bits, and the white lace bralette needs a tug upwards to prevent nipple exhibition. Waist-length pink hair concealed her expression. When I towel-dried my hands, the noise had her eyes jerking up. “Hey,” I said, and she smiled sullenly. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah.” She set her phone on the counter. “I needed five minutes to cool down.”

Admiring Harlyn’s leather ankle booties, I pulled myself onto the counter and settled beside her. Normally, this woman’s unfriendly, moodier than what’s deemed acceptable and sharp-tongued to anyone within her breathing space. Tonight, though, she’s abnormally quiet and crestfallen. Whilst everyone’s on the dancefloor, dancing like beatless idiots, she’s sat alone at the table. When everyone ploughs through rounds of shots, she nurses unconsumed beer.

“You don’t have to sit with me.” Her lugubrious tone of voice pulled me out of my trance. “Go and have fun. I’ll be out in a minute.” Dropping off the counter, she stumbled sideways, caught her footing and entered the cubicle.

Her phone vibrated.

I peered out of the corner of my eye.

“Are you okay in there?” I slanted the phone to check the screen. “Do I need to hold your hair?”

Vomiting down the pan, she moaned, “I am never sick.”

Jace: Where are you?

“Ugh, I hate being sick,” she grumbled. I placed the screen downward, so she’s not suspicious. “Alexa, how do I stop it?”

“You’ll feel better once it’s gone.” Worried she might pass out, I moved to her door and tested the unlocked handle. “Do you want me to come in?”

“No,” she whimpered, followed by another violent projectile. “Gross.” Flushing the toilet, she fell into the wooden partition, rattling the hinges, and re-emerged. “Do I look okay?”

“You look like shit.” Gripping her elbow, I coaxed her to the sink, turned on the cold tap and helped to clean the mess on her chin. “Would you like me to take you home?”

Her head shook.

“Okay, well, I think you should stick to water.” I uprooted chewing gum from my purse and stuffed three sticks in her mouth. “Here.” Spraying perfume on her to mask the stench of vomit, I combed my fingers through the ends of her hair and effaced smudged mascara from under her eyes. “Look, It’s none of my business. But you seem very distracted tonight. Whatever—or whoever—has upset you, I’d give it the middle finger. Nothing is worth sitting in the bathroom by yourself. Besides, I am here to keep the sickness to a minimum.” Repacking my purse, I set a hand on my hip. “Stick with me, Harlyn. I make a mean wing person.”

Harlyn studied me for a moment. “How do you do it?”

My tongue pushed into my cheek. “Do what?”

“Pretend life doesn’t hurt.”

Her question felt knowingly deep. It’s safe to assume Jace has divulged on occasion. “It’s not always easy to pretend. Sometimes, I cry as much as the best of them.”

“Yeah, but you went through so much,” she prattled on. “You’d never think it. I mean, look at you.” Her eyes were wide in awe. “You married Warren. You wear clothes that I’d sell my vagina to own, and you have an air about you that’s just…Everyone loves you. Jace really loves you…”

Harlyn’s befuddled blathering dwindled. Her melancholic mood fell to the floor as she picked fuchsia polish off her oval-shaped nails. “Come on.” I handed her the almost forgotten phone, opened the restroom door and stayed close to her side. “We should dance.”

“Oh, no,” she protested, and my hand captured her fingers. “Alexa, I can’t dance.” Thunderous club music set the tempo. “No—”

“Yes,” I insisted, dragging her through sweat-slicked hordes.

“Raindrops” by Sash! encouraged the cavernous room to come to life. Holding onto my clutch bag for dear life, I faced a distraught Harlyn and allowed the music to steer movements. The DJ amplified the velocity, and people, pumped with alcohol and some kind of drug, bounced wildly, knocking into us.

I laughed at the insanity, jumping on the bandwagon. Harlyn watched in horror, and then a look of “who the fuck cares?” crossed her face. Dancing in her limited space, she swayed her hips in sync with sporadic flashing lights, and damn, I don’t understand her self-consciousness because she puts my shoulder shuffling to shame. Her hands elevated lustrous pink hair up, and for a bizarre second, I was a lesbian. A sheen of sweat dusted her décolletage, and I wasn’t her only secret admirer. Tom Hardy’s lookalike stands by the concrete column stalked studiously. He broke into a slow-paced prowl, marking her every move. Skirting his knuckles down her spine, his head dipping over her shoulder, he mouthed something in her ear. Harlyn blushed, craning her neck to respond.

“Alexa!” Grayson landed by my side. “Milk me, Momma.”

“What? Grayson—” He slid an arm behind my back and sharply lowered my head mere inches from the floor. “You are insane!”

“You. Taste.” His tongue swept my cheek. “Salty.”

Our bodies moved to the beat. I breached the brink of enjoyment. As I loosen the muscles, I monitored Harlyn. I forced her to dance, to forget about…something I am afraid to address, so I am not leaving her solo.

“Who’s the dude?” Gray asked, resting his chin on my shoulder.

“I’m not sure…” The guy’s hand grappled Harlyn’s buttocks, and she tapped his chest, politely ebbing backwards. He’s relentless. His sleazy hands pawed her thighs, her arms and, in for another inappropriate fondle, her ass. “Let me speak to her.”

Freed from Grayson’s hold, I shimmied to Harlyn, who’s now pointing a finger in the guy’s face, and tried to mediate.

“Who the fuck asked you?” he shouted, and the hairs on my neck stood. “Get back over there, bitch—”

“Do not speak to my friend like that,” Harlyn spat, her hands curling into fists. “You need to find someone willing, dick face.”

“Ignore him.” I will not allow some rude asshole to ruin our night. “Shall we rest the feet? Buy more vodka. For me. Not you.”

“Who the fuck put fifty pence in you?” He shoved me in the shoulder, and unrestrainable ire deafened the music. “You need to get your mutt on a leash—”

I brought my hand back and walloped the disrespect from his mouth. “Fuck you.”

His head snapped to the side. I witnessed the demonic presence blacken his narrowed glare. Lips twisting into a snarl, he charged forward in vehemence, and I knew, without peering over my shoulder, Jace had entered the chat. Inked fingers dug into my shoulder. He threw me behind him, his back shielding me from the asshole, and threw the first punch.

All Hell breaks loose. People dispersed, falling over each other to avoid being trampled over, which caused a distressing stampede.

I was more concerned for my friend.

Alfie, thoroughly dishevelled, almost slipped as he ran towards me.

Tom, I shall name him, skated across the ground, hauling Jace down with him. Both men fought for the upper hand, fist for fist, and when the guy outstretched his arm, his fingers stretching to grab the discarded beer bottle on the floor, I unfettered my cemented legs.

With furious strides, I walked into the brawl, lifted my foot and stamped my stiletto into the back of his hand. Shrieking like a dying cat, Tom endeavours to withdraw his arm, which worsened his ruptured skin, and implored Jace to release him.

I am seething.

Wriggling my foot to maximise the pain, I wedged the heel, and tears burst from his eyes. I shook my foot, and his bloodied skin unadhered. Red-faced in anger, Jace staggered to his feet, booted the guy in the ribs and spat in his face. “Jace,” I called, and his fierce expression immobilised me. “We need to leave.”

Jace’s eyes were unfocused until something behind me caught his attention. Harlyn’s between Jared and Shane. Tears of guilt splotched her cheeks. Jace’s girlfriend stands by the main door to leave, where he needs to be, but he’s en-route to see his roommate.

I stepped out in front of him. “What the Hell is wrong with you?”

His look was sharp. “What?”

Feeling the intensity of Charlotte’s watchfulness, I pushed off my tiptoes and asked, “How long have you been fucking Harlyn?” He winced. “Jace, seriously? I thought you hated the woman. In fact, correct me if I am wrong. You said, ‘her as a roommate is bad enough.’”

“I got myself into an entanglement, alright?” He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. “I wanted to talk to you about it, but I barely see you these days.”

Tom, the snitch, talked to the burly bouncers. Not wanting further trouble, I laid my hand on Jace’s lower back, signalling for the other’s to follow, and led him outdoors.

Grayson’s resolute on keeping the party in action. I agreed. I am sober, a tad shaken up, but the night’s still young.

We walked in pairs down the street.

Grayson hinted at Club 11.

“No,” I said unwaveringly. “I am not partying there…” Everyone looked gutted. “I don’t care. If I go to Club 11. the Suits will be on my tail within five minutes. Right, Alfie?”

Alfie nodded. “Correct, Ma’am.”

“But it’s the best club in London,” Grayson groused. “Please, Alexa. You can get us the VIP treatment.”

“Alexa’s entitled to some downtime, guys.” Jace had my back. “We are not stumped for cash, so quit the dramatics. I hear Ace’s Bar has a neat set-up.”

“Yes.” Charlotte’s hands clapped. “I love Ace’s. Complimentary champagne. Here we come.”

Harlyn’s eyes rolled.

I bit my tongue to quash laughter.

“Anyhow, Club 11′s dieted. Holy shit.” Charlotte’s eyes rounded in glee. “Did you guys hear what happened to Warren?” she asked conversationally, and everyone muffled into silence. Jace shook his head, an order to hold her tongue, but she missed the memo. “Apparently, he got into it with a rival gang. Lost his hand under a tyre.”

I snorted. “No, Liam’s at home. And they weren’t a rival gang. They’re an Italian Mafia.”

“Mafia,” she deadpanned. “I see we have a journalist among us.”

“No, I’m his wife,” I educated, and if Harlyn didn’t love me before, she does now. “Alexa Warren.”

“Oh-oh.” Charlotte’s mouth formed a circle. “I, yeah, I should have recognised you…” She pinched the back of Jace’s arm, and he grimaced. “I apologise. You must think I am so rude.”

“It’s fine.” I gave her a flippant hand wave. “Ace’s Bar?”

“Yes.” Eager to flee gossip, Charlotte gripped Jace’s hand and interlaced their fingers. “The first round is on me—”

“Causing trouble without me?”

My heart skipped a beat.

I recognised that voice.

Short hair sitting on her shoulders, Chloe, modelled in too many layers yet still managed to look beautiful, strolled towards us. Pear-shaped diamond earrings dangled from her lobes, sandals refined her elegant walk and her smile, it sprung tears to my eyes. “Alexa.” Everyone seemed to disappear. I only saw her. “Love the dress.”

I knuckled a loan tear from my cheek. “I love the hair.”

Chloe slid blonde strands behind her ears. “Love the shoes.”

Foolish laughter fell from my lips. “You came out.”

“I did.” Her eyes were glassy. “Oh, come here, Hon.”

And then, as if time hadn’t passed, as if differences of opinions hadn’t caused a rift between us, we held onto each other. Chloe felt familiar. Chloe is home. I didn’t want to be anywhere else.

“Ugh,” she complained, sniffling into the groove of my neck. “Why am I crying?”

I wiped my cheeks. “You big softie.”

Giggling through snivels, Chloe stepped back and looked at the night sky to blink back the waterworks. “So, what’s on the agenda?”

“My favourite girls back together.” Grayson kissed her cheek. “You look great, Goldie Locks.”

“Can we wrap this up?” Rubbing her shivering arms, Charlotte stared narrowly at me. “I’m freezing.”

Jace might like the woman.

I, however, do not.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Alexa

Ace’s Bar provided an exclusive cocktail menu and privatised booths for quieter socialising in between roistering in the niterie’s subterranean hotspot. I escaped the sweaty dungeon the second DJ Reese announced spritzed foam. I hate to be the sourpuss, but I am not partying in suds and bubbles, ruining the black with gold embellished Giuseppe Zanotti’s on my feet.

Grayson’s odd behaviour raised eyebrows tonight. I mean, he’s innately an idiosyncratic individual. He has a wild fashion sense and loves to stand out in the crowd. Obstreperous cockiness and foul-mouthed insults, though, that’s something else entirely. It’s unfathomable that he’s dodged one or two backhanders, and if doffing the shirt to dance on tables discouraged the interference of stone-faced bouncers, then surely, insulting the barmaid for the ice cube shortfall held adequate grounds to cut his night short.

No, Grayson’s still here, sweating buckets, invading people’s tables with his bizarre commentating, making poor Arthur grey-haired and stressed. “I have never witnessed this side of him before,” said Arthur. “It’s very uncharacteristic.”

I sipped vodka through the straw. “How long have you been dating?”

“It’s recent.” Seeing Gray in a murkier light, Arthur picked imaginary lint off his shirt. “I might flag down a taxi. Grayson won’t be leaving anytime soon. I have work in the morning.” Flattening a palm down his chest, he stood from the table. “I had a wonderful night, Alexa. Perhaps I will see you again in the near future.”

“Goodnight, Arthur.” Feeling bad for the guy, I watched him exit Ace’s through the designated smokers’ area and slumped back against the cold leather. “I guess it’s just you and me, Burger.”

Mouth wide open, Burger snores in his sleep. His co-workers, Becky and Janette, left an hour ago to line their stomachs with greasy food. They promised to come back, yet their seats remain abandoned.

I glimpsed towards the back of the lounge to where the winding stairway leads underground, hoping to see familiar faces. Upon hunting for the gang, I marked Jared and Shane by the circle bar, perched on metal stools. Besides them, a seat I shall claim. I collected my bag, meandered through crowds and interrupted their conversation. “Hey.” Positioning my back to the bar, I became seated, crossing one leg over the opposite knee. “Sorry, but Burger’s no company and I won’t go downstairs until the foam’s gone.”

“Ditto.” Shane handed me a shot glass. “How’s Warren?”

“Liam’s recovering,” I said as we clinked glasses. “Vincent took five bullets and had distressing episodes of cardiac arrest. He’s stable now. Honestly, I can’t wait for the hospital to discharge him. Liam won’t rest until his brother’s home.”

“That sucks.” Jared tweaked his eyebrow piercing. “Well, if you need anything, you know where to find us.”

I changed the subject. “So, Jace and Charlotte?”

Shane’s expressionless.

Jared, however, smirked wolfishly. “You don’t like her.”

I feigned offence. “I said no such thing.”

“You didn’t need to. It’s written all over your face.”

“I don’t know her to dislike her.” When the barmaid neared, I ordered us another round. “She’s not what I expected, though.”

“Charlotte’s…” Jared’s tongue swept his upper teeth. “High maintenance. Don’t ask me how, but she’s got Jace wrapped around her little finger.”

I stifled judgment. “What about Harlyn?”

Shane and Jared shared a puzzled look.

“Harlyn?” Shane’s folded arms leaned onto the cluttered counter. “What’s the question?”

Jace hasn’t told his roommates about his extracurricular activities. Interesting. “Oh, Harlyn drank too much earlier. I had to help her in the bathroom…” They equally wore sceptical scowls. “I don’t know. She seemed upset. And then all that drama with Tom Hardy.” Shane tried to read my thoughts. “Stop looking for something that’s not there.”

“Harlyn’s a lightweight.” Jared ran a hand over his dark blue hair. “Two beers and the girl’s on her ass. Take no notice. If she can’t keep up, then she shouldn’t drink.”

Who am I to deliberate?

I barely know Harlyn.

“I am wrecked.” Jace’s arms went under my legs. He lifted me off the stool as if I weighed nothing, reclaimed my seat, and plonked me on his thighs. “Why do I do it to myself?” His bloodshot eyes seared into me. “Why are you sober?”

“I have consumed so much alcohol. It hasn’t touched me.” My hands clasped around the tall glass. “I guess it’s one of those nights where I get to sit back and watch everyone else act like fools.”

“Right?” Jared tapped the coaster against his phone. “Ten beers later, I can still see straight.”

While Jace’s roomies conversed, he squeezed my knee, demanding my full attention. His lips brushed my ear when he whispered, “I’m sorry.”

I frowned. “For what?”

“Charlotte,” he clipped, stealing the vodka from my grasp. “It’s not serious.”

“You don’t get into a relationship with someone if it’s not serious, Jace.”

“It happened once.” He rubbed a hand over his frustrated features. “Harlyn, I mean. I agreed to be her fake boyfriend while she attended her sister’s wedding. That’s a story for another time. Anyway,” he whispered to ensure the other’s don’t overhear, “I fucked her the night before our flights. She was sad about her mum. I comforted her…”

I had numerous questions. Jace’s too inebriated to elucidate, though. “It’s not an excuse, but were you under the influence?”

“I knew what I was doing.” He touched the puce on his cheek, the result of Tom’s iron fist. “I went there anyway. And Harlyn? It’s awkward. I live with her. I work with her. She’s everywhere, Alexa. To be fair, she’s not clingy or demanding or even expectant, but sleeping together changed the dynamics.”

Jared followed Shane to the platform to play a game of pool. Holding the hem of my dress down, I slipped off Jace’s lap and rested a hip to the bar. “You have many concerns, yet Charlotte’s not one of them. That’s a huge red flag, Jace. What you should be saying is ‘I feel guilty for cheating on my girlfriend.’”

Jace’s arms crossed. “It’ll only ever be Lucy.”

“Lucy’s dead.” My tactfulness took him aback. “And that’s sad. You love her so much. I see it in your eyes whenever she’s mentioned. I wasn’t fortunate enough to meet her. I only know what you tell me, which isn’t much, but she’d want you to move on. She’d want you to be happy. Candidly, I think you are ready to.” My hand hugged his shoulder. “Hence the entanglement. Juggling two women, playing with their emotions, playing with your emotions, that’s not the right answer. Whether it be Harlyn, Charlotte, or singleness, decide what’s right for you. Do not base your decision on what seems like indebtedness.”

Jace’s hand covered mine. “It was supposed to be forever, Alexa.”

“You hold onto a memory that’s eating you alive. Close the book. It’s time to create new memories.” Our interlaced fingers fell to his thigh, and I swept my thumb over his inked knuckles. “So, what will it be?”

“I—hey.” Jace resembled a deer in the headlight. He outstretched an arm, inviting his girlified closer, and Charlotte welded to his side. “Are you having a good time?”

“You are hard to pin down tonight.” She playfully pinched his nose. “I swear, I am ten pounds lighter after all the dancing. Grayson’s crazy. No one can stand still in his presence.” Her dreamy eyes marvelled at him. “Can we eat soon? I am so hungry.”

“Sure.” He kissed her chin. “What do you say, Alexa? Beef noodles?”

My eyes lit up. “Yes—”

“I fancied pasta.” Charlotte’s lips pursed. “Spaghetti puttanesca is my favourite.”

“Okay,” I agreed for amiable purposes. “Let me go and find the other’s first.”

***

Grayson had ingested ecstasy, which explains his outrageousness. The insufferable muttonhead has yet to notice Arthur’s disappearance. Upon arriving at the late-night restaurant, he ordered bottled water together with every carb on the menu and managed to aggravate the manager with his Rabelaisian slurs.

As the tables only accommodate five people, Jared, Shane, Harlyn, Grayson and Alfie chortled from the booth behind us.

Burger, who slept through most of our shenanigans, ordered takeout and cabbed home.

Engaged in deep conversation, Jace and Charlotte share spaghetti puttanesca and bottled sauvignon blanc.

But enough of everyone else. I finally get to sit with an old friend and reminisce. “I almost stayed home.” Chloe forked cherry tomatoes into her mouth. “Grayson swore to kidnap me if I didn’t come out.”

Well, I am glad Grayson shoved a rocket up her ass. “Did you know I’d be here?”

“I had a feeling.” She guzzled water. “Truthfully, I thought you hated me…” Her lips puckered. “Yeah, let’s leave the past in the past, right? We are not responsible for Harold and Josh.”

I chewed a breadstick. “How’s Dominic?”

“He’s good.” Chloe smiled in reverie. “He keeps me on my toes. I am lucky to get three hours of rest per night. I’ll be addicted to caffeine if his sleep pattern doesn’t change soon. Here.” Wiping her hands in a napkin, she unlocked her phone to show me pictures. “His daddy sent these earlier.”

Dominic’s amber-coloured eyes stared right at the camera as he chomped on his little fist. “He’s beautiful.” Sighing in wonderment, I swiped through the slide of images. “You are so blessed, Chloe.” Harold’s in the next photo. “I think that’s the end.”

Chloe placed the phone inside her bag. “Do you remember the time I locked myself out of the flat, so I sat in the foyer all day, waiting for you to come home?”

“Yes.” My lips widened. “You had the key in your bag the entire time.”

“I was such a dumbass,” she muttered, and I laughed twice. “Oh, my god. Remember I had a crush on Levi Mills in high school? He was on the football team. He had the whole surfer boy image going on?”

“Yes,” I said chipperly. “You wrote Mrs Mills on all your textbooks.”

“Okay, that’s shameful.” She briefly covered her face. “Anyhow, I bumped into him last weekend. He has four children. All with different mothers. And his current girlfriend is pregnant.”

“Seriously?” God, where did he find the time to work on a five-a-side? “Bloody hell. He started young.”

“I know.” She turned in her seat to face me fully. “Levi hasn’t lost his humour, though. He mentioned you, too.”

Levi dated Jessica in high school and played a huge role in making my life miserable. “Why?”

“When I snuck him into the flat and you threatened to disown me.”

I made an unpleasant face. “God, I despised him.”

“And then Kathy woke up and promised to nail his pecker to his ass if he ever upset you again.” Her chuckling morphed into snorts. “His face was comical. He believed her.”

Levi infuriated Kathy. I am her sister, after all, and she hated to see me in tears. “Looking back, I think she meant it.”

Chloe’s stare sailed into the distance. “Do you miss her?”

“Every day.” I missed Kathy before Flamur Bajramovic. “I like to believe she’s in a better place, Chloe.”

“With your mum?” she mused, and I nodded slowly. “At least you can visit them and lay flowers. My father cremated my mother and sprinkled her ashes in the garden of our old home.” She dusted bread flour off her hands. “Hey, maybe I can go with you? No need to buy flowers. I am quite the florist these days. I can even order solar lights online for Kathy’s plot.”

A knot crept up my throat. “I can’t visit Kathy’s graveside.”

Her smile vanished. “Why not?”

I looked at Jace and Charlotte to see them indulged in a passionate kiss. “I…” I murmured behind my hand. “I don’t know where Liam buried her.”

“Oh.” Chloe visibly deflated. “That must be tough for you, Hon.” She inhaled a shaky breath. “If you wanted to visit her, he’d let you, right?”

I had no response. Kathy is somewhat a forbidden conversation. Liam has never entertained any discussions concerning my sister. Even in the past, he offered minimal information in regard to their sexual relationship. If I asked for Kathy’s location, I highly doubt the appeal will end in my favour. “I don’t know…”

“Alexa, he’s your husband.” Her hand rubbed my back. “What’s the harm in asking?” When she noted my uneasiness, she smiled softly. “It doesn’t matter. We can always send lanterns to the sky instead.”

“Maybe.” Reaching under the table to grab my clutch purse, I excused myself to the restroom. “Order strawberries. I’ll be right back.” Alfie stood abruptly to escort me. “I am fine, Alfie. You cannot hold my hand while I urinate.”

I walked around occupied tables to the adjacent hallway. Inside the bathroom, I balanced my purse on the wooden counter and grabbed the basin. It had never occurred to me to visit Kathy, but now that Chloe’s mentioned it, I can’t shake the possibility.

Cupping cold water in my joint hands, I soaked my chest and neck, reducing the blush tinting my skin, and applied red lipstick to my lips. The door opened, and a suited gentleman entered. “Wrong bathroom,” I informed him, and he scoured the walls for the urinals. “Next door, buddy.”

“Mi scuso, bella,” he said in a strong Italian accent. “Sono nel posto giusto, però.”

I am in an Italian restaurant, so the man’s appearance is to be expected; however, the omnibus glint in his brown close-set eyes raked horripilation across my arms.

He upturned the collar of his silk shirt, the inky black texture similar to the greasy hair on his head, and his tan leather shoes contrasted with the pair of Santoni fringed buckle loafers exiting the cubicle.

“Mi sembri familiare,” the second guy accentuated. Unfolding a white napkin, he braced his shoulder to the tiled wall and stared down his nose at me. “È Alexa Warren.”

Although I feared the coincidental outcome, I gripped my purse and elevated my chin. “I should warn you. My security detail waits for me in the other room. If I am not back within the next few minutes, they will come in here to look for me.”

“Allow me to introduce myself.” The man closest to the exit stepped forward. “Angelo Moretti.” He noted my confusion and smirked. “Alberto’s first-born son.”

Why did the syndicate not know of the eldest son and heir?

“You see, Alexa. You and I have something in common.” He’s close now, the tips of his leather shoes sheer inches from my toes. “I diamanti di mio padre.”

“This sounds like a business proposal. Anything you wish to discuss should be negotiated with my husband in the conclave.”

“Warren seeks Italian blood.” Angelo’s whiskey breath warmed my cheek. “He will not negotiate. Therefore, I need a bargaining chip.” His gold ringed fingers grazed my elbow. “I hear he’s quite bendable when it comes to his precious wife.”

In desperate hastiness, Angelo’s accomplice fisted my hair by the roots and rammed the napkin in my mouth, fixing his hand to my lips to muffle imploration. I thrashed viciously to escape their leeches, but my handlers arms were too strong to overpower.

Angelo held the door open. I kicked him in the shin as the guy effortlessly towed me into the hallway. I could see the restaurant’s door. Knowing Alfie and Jace sat obliviously on the other side only intensified trepidation.

I needed them.

Jerking open the fire exit door, the guy stepped onto the bricked floor of the alleyway. Blurry-eyed, I stared at the starlit sky, drizzles dusting my face, and thrashed my legs across potholes filled with stagnant water.

“Metti la cagna nel bagagliaio.” Angelo unlocked the parked Alfa Romeo. “Drive her to your house, Diego.” He lit a cigarette. “Why do you fight? Accept the inevitable.”

Fuck his inevitable bullshit. I will fight. I will never stop fighting because surrendering is not an option in our world.

Diego dumped me into the car boot. He reached for the door to lock me inside and I brought my knee back to impale him between the legs with my stiletto. “Merda!” he wailed, doubling over at the waist to catch his breath.

I had one opportunity. No mistakes. No second-guessing. I brought my arm back, tightened my fist and punched Diego in the jaw. My knuckles clipped him, but it’s not enough to bring him to the floor. Scurrying out of the boot, I evaded the man’s grappling hands as he sought my ankles and ran towards the fire door.

Angelo threw his body into the door, which engaged the lock from the inside. He gave me a lopsided grin. “Non avresti dovuto farlo.”

My heart thrashed against my breast bone. I walked backwards, the two men scavenging like predatory animals. I fossicked through my purse.

“What are you looking for?” Diego asked. “This?” He brandished my phone. “You won’t be needing to make calls, Alexa.”

I slipped my hand into the purse’s side pocket and fine silk scraped my fingers. Empty.

Nausea rioted in my stomach.

Where’s my firearm?

I specifically remember hiding the gun in my bag before leaving the Manor this evening.

“I am no one’s pawn,” I snarled, and Angelo, entertained by my predicament, licked the barrel of his gun. He’ll aim fire, take my legs from under me, but he won’t kill me. I am too valuable to him. “It’s your funeral, gentleman.” I stepped out of my heels, leaving them on the floor. “Let’s see if your fat arses can keep up.”

Spinning on the balls of my feet, I broke into a sprint to the terrifying rally of gunshots. “Segui lei!” Angelo’s panicked voice echoed. “Torna qui!”

Dashing around the polychromatic brick wall, I belted down the street at a gruelling pace, past mounted vehicles and assembled females tucking into their early morning chips.

I had to think fast. I had to lure him away from innocent people.

Skulking into one of four alleys, I faltered my footsteps near the communal bin, lifted the hatch and heaved my body into a heap of foul-smelling garbage bags.

Darkness kept me safe. I secured a hand to my nose and mouth to blanket the eye-watering stench. Blood roaring in my ears, I tuned in to advancing footsteps. “Dov’è lei?” Angelo’s angered tone fractured my heart. “Diego, without her, I have nothing.”

Something furry crawled over my ankle. I cringed.

“Alexa ran to the busy street,” Diego said aloud. “She must think you won’t hurt her in public.”

“I show no mercy.” Angelo snickered. “Drive everywhere until you find her. I will continue on foot.” I heard them kissing. “Ti amo, Diego.”

Their footsteps dispersed in opposite directions. I must wait before climbing out in case one of them spots me, but the unknown creature scaling my leg makes it difficult to stay hidden. I pushed on the hatch slightly, letting the wall-mounted security light filter inside, and exposed the long-tailed rat parked on my thigh. “Get off,” I whispered, jerking my leg, praying he doesn’t freak out and sink his razor-sharp teeth into me. “Shit—”

The hatch flew open. Angelo whacked the rat aside, snatched my throat and tossed me onto the floor.

Pain shot up my spine. Blinking back dizziness, I twisted onto my stomach. “Naughty,” Angelo purred, entertaining my pathetic crawl to escape. “It’s unladylike to stay on all fours, especially if you insist on losing the panties. If you were my wife,” he pawed my backside, and I stilled, my knees digging into the concrete, “I’d spank your ass raw.”

“And here I thought you liked cock,” I humoured the psychotic lunatic. “I wonder what gave me that impression?” Angelo’s corpulent body straddled the dip of my spine, and my elbows caved in, unable to hold his weight. “Get off me!”

Angelo forced me onto my back, pinning me beneath him. His weight suffocated me. I could barely breathe due to the heaviness pressing down on my chest. With my wrists caged in his hand, he hauled my arms above my head and lashed his tongue along my jawline. “I like men and women,” he hummed, his greasy hair irritating my eyes. “I should wait for Diego.” His gun dug into my side. “You tempt me, Alexa.”

“Liam will never do business with you if you touch me inappropriately.” My legs attempted to straighten under him, but he nestled lower, wedging my thighs further apart. “If I promise to help, will you let me go?”

I felt the cold metal of his gun on my temple. “I haven’t decided yet.” His finger teased the trigger, and I flinched. “Fear not, little one. I ran out of bullets.” He pulled the trigger, and even though he had prepared me for empty shots, I still lurched in acute panic. “I prefer my women healthier.” His lip curled up at the corner. “Sei anoressica.”

Angelo uncaged my wrists to unbuckle his belt.

Screaming into the night, I laid into him, my fists bashing on his head and shoulders, but he’s unperturbed by the unremitting blows.

I have aids, he tells me, twisting the knife deeper.

I clawed his face, scrammed his sunken cheeks. Soreness rippled through my head. I was suddenly disorientated. He’d backhanded me, and I was too lost to discern his cruelty.

He freed himself from restriction.

I stared numbly at the beads on my wrist. “Vincent…” My spine bowed as I extended my arms above my head. Eyes closing to stay calm, I unravelled the rosary with rigid fingers.

“Scream for me!” Angelo’s spittle bespeckled my cheek. “I want you to scream.”

“Why don’t you scream for me?” My eyes flew open. “Bitch.” Tugging the chain around the nape of his neck, I tightened my legs around his waist, wrenched the garrotte wire and watched the crucifix mechanically shoot up to his throat.

Unprepared for the attack, Angelo, bug-eyed and choking, clutched his neck to staunch the splurging blood.

My upper arms burnt. I am too weak to maintain strength, to rip through the thickness of his skin until he bleeds out.

Utilising my legs for support, I outmanoeuvred him at his limpest moment and asphyxiated him onto his back. I released the rosary, snatched his hair with my fists and bashed his skull on the floor.

I am done.

Driven by unstoppable rage, I pounded his head against the concrete until bones cracked and his soulless eyes stared back at me.

Crimson stained my fingers and bloodied the floor beneath us, yet I preserved the barbaric counterattack.

I lowered my head to his chest and screamed.

My lungs ached.

Gore begrimed my fingernails.

I am in an alternate universe, and I cannot find my way home.

“Alexa!” Jace shouted, but I couldn’t lift my cheek from the man’s frozen heart. “Alexa…” His black boots stuttered to a standstill. “Christ, what happened?” He crouched down and levelled me with his worried eyes. “Odds and ends, Alexa.” His palm hid my dirty hand. “Did he…?”

I shook my head. “I need Liam.”

Jace wedged an arm between Angelo’s chest and mine and helped me stand. Peeling off his leather jacket, he reached behind him to remove his T-shirt and tug it over my head. “I got you.” Bringing my head to his bare chest, he put the phone to his ear. “Warren.” Liam’s baritone voice droned between us. “Alexa’s okay. She encountered a problem—” His jaw ticked. “For you.”

I accepted the phone. “Liam.”

“Who hurt you?”

“Angelo Moretti.” I stood back while Jace dumped Angelo’s dead body into the communal bin. “Alberto’s eldest son. I killed him.”

Liam’s concerningly calm. “Where’s Alfie?”

Acidic bile clogged my throat. “It’s not Alfie’s fault—”

“No?” Liam snapped, and I winced. “What the fuck do I pay him for? Put him on the phone.”

“Will you listen to me?” I heard glass shatter and Brad’s curse in the background. “Angelo snatched me from the female restroom. Alfie cannot be held accountable. Please, Liam. I am not capable of arguments right now.” A sob ripped from my throat. “Will you pick me up?”

“Do not leave Jace’s side,” he ordered. “I am on my way.”

I ended the call. “So much for a fun night out on the town.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Liam

Nate transferred Angelo Moretti’s dead body to Club 11′s underground chambers while Blaire, with the assistance of the syndicate’s clean-up crew, stayed at the crime scene to decimate blood remnants or any possible evidence that could incriminate Alexa.

Alberto had introduced me to his small family, his wife, Rosa, his two boys, Lorenzo and Romeo, and last but not least, his daughter, Angelica. However, at no point during conversations leading up to the diamond heist did the man declare another son. Moretti had three children as far as I was concerned, so his firstborn fell through the cracks.

He was not even on our radar.

Once Moretti discovers his son’s death, he will demand the body, which Nate plans to dissect and cut to pieces in preparation for the local piggery. He will also target my loved ones in the name of grief.

Moretti can fuck himself. I will not hand over Angelo, not for love nor money, and I will not sit tight while he annihilates everyone I hold dear.

Brad reads Alberto’s file. “Rosa is not Angelo’s biological mother. Alberto’s first wife, Marcella Fantoni.” He exhibited paper copies of missing person cases in Italy. “I bet he knows where to find her body.”

I chucked Marcella’s mugshot onto the coffee table, not caring if she is dead or alive. “Alberto remarried Rosa, who lent a hand in raising Angelo. Then, three children later, the Moretti’s emigrated to the United Kingdom to live here in London.”

“They legged Sicily to avoid blood feuds between grudge-bearing families,” Brad said decisively. “Moretti’s fuelled by nostalgia. He’s not content with mediocrity. He’s power-hungry. He craves head-table sovereignty, and he’ll stop at nothing until he achieves. Now, Angelo’s unanticipated reveal might work in your favour. Alexa,” he addressed my wife as she strolled into the living room’s adjacent kitchen. “You think Angelo is estranged from his father?”

I drove to central London within minutes of Jace’s phone call to collect my wife. Surprisingly, albeit shaken and bloodied, she appeared unruffled but eager to shower. On our journey home, she explained how Angelo and his lover, Diego, cornered her in the female restroom and tried to hold her ransom to blackmail me into collaboration.

I diamanti di mio padre.

Angelo wanted me to help him obtain the diamonds.

“I can’t be certain.” Tucking her arm behind my neck, Alexa collapsed on the sofa and cuddled into my side. “Angelo knew of the diamonds, so he had some form of communication with his father. He was prepared to double-cross him, though, which indicated bad blood between them.”

Inhaling the scent of sweet shampoo from Alexa’s hair, I kissed the hollow spot beneath her ear. “I’m proud of you, baby.” I jerked my chin to the dining table. “Go and eat some leftover pizza.”

“In a bit.” Her dutiful fingers massaged the nape of my neck. “About Alife. It is unfair to punish him for tonight’s mishap. He’s my favourite bodyguard. And he’s so loyal and dedicated to you and the organisation. To lose him would be a great tragedy.”

Brad’s absent eyes came to me.

“Angelo snatched you from the restroom and almost locked you in the trunk of his car. If Alfie did his job properly by waiting for you in the hallway, he’d have precluded Angelo’s incursion and killed him before the aforementioned transpired. You cannot defend him or dismiss his carelessness.” My glare condemned her to hold her tongue. “Fear not. I will not hurt him.”

Alexa’s embittered mood brightened in repose. “Thank you, Liam.” Her feet sank into the lush rug as she went to the dining table, to where Logan, preoccupied with homework, studies historical events for an exam. “What are you working on?” Holding the back of his chair, she gave his paper a speculative glance. “Catherine Howard’s alleged lover? Yeah, because her extramarital affairs matter.”

“Eat your pizza,” Brad ordered, and she shot him a pointed look. “Retrieve the claws, woman.” Craning his neck to watch her separate pizza slices in the box, he scratched his bare chest. “Try the hot and spicy.” He sent her a chef’s kiss. “Jalapeno greatness.”

“I’d rather not.” She eliminated jalapenos, onions, mushrooms, mixed peppers and pepperoni, leaving only margarita and stuffed crust. “Would you like to help me at the youth centre on Monday?” she asked Logan. “I offered to paint the foyer. I could use the extra muscle.”

Reliving our heated argument, Logan briefly glanced in my direction. “Sure.” Closing the textbook, he folded his arms and leaned back in the chair. “You leave early, right?”

“Yes.” She sat cross-legged next to him. “I have to attend a staff meeting before Matthew unlocks the main door for the teens. So, you can sit in the main room until It’s over.”

“I’ll shoot some hoops,” he said, and she smiled delightedly. “I need to get my ass back on the court.” He laughed, low and throaty. “It feels like forever since I played ball.”

I stared blankly. “Do you not play in school?”

It was an innocuous question, yet Logan recoiled. “No, I stay away from the school courts.” His doleful gaze lowered to the twiddling thumbs on his lap in abashment. “When I lived with Ma, I’d wait for her and Cyril to fall asleep and sneak to the court in our street. Nobody goes there at three in the morning. It was my favourite time to hit the net.”

Brad’s toothpick wedged between his front teeth. “If you love playing so much, why do you steer clear of the court in school? I am no basketball aficionado, but that sounds like a baller’s paradise.”

Logan begins to shrink under our scrutiny. His cheeks puffed. “You know why.”

“I do?” Brad perked a deriding eyebrow. “Refresh my memory.”

Cracking open canned lemonade, Alexa quenched thirst. “Logan struggles to make friends,” she spoke vaguely. “He prefers reclusiveness.”

“What?” Pushing onto his feet, Brad, flinging two bobbles at Alexa, slumped on the chair opposite Logan. “Sensitivity and lonesomeness do not belong in your world. You are fifteen. It is only right that you socialise and break all the rules: stay out late, lie to your guardians, drink shit beer and sample multiple chicks.” The lad’s cheeks burnt red. “Unless you prefer the same sex?”

“Brad!” Alexa covered Logan’s ears. “Do not corrupt him.”

“He’s hardly corruptible,” Brad bickered. “Look at this bullshit.” He gestured to the piles of homework. “What normal teenager stays in all night, reading dull, unexciting articles on King Henry. No one cares how many wives the man beheaded.”

Alexa’s going to murder him. “Well, if he wants good grades to get into college, Logan must take his education seriously.”

“You need to find a balance.” Brad pinched the pen between rigid fingers and drew a circle graph. “School, studying, socialising, basketball, girls and mischief.” His tongue clicked. “It’s not rocket science, Logan. You seem like a cool kid. Life should be easy for you.” When the boy’s restlessness intensified, Brad chucked then pen down. “He is peevishly uncooperative.”

“I am not.” Logan’s tone raised. “Thanks for the pep talk, Brad, but it’s easier said than done. To go out, I need friends. To date girls, I need them to back off with the insults. To play ball in school, I need the students to stop kicking my ass.” The legs of his chair shrieked as he stood. “Does that sum up this bullshit for you?”

Logan stormed out of the kitchen.

“So, he’s bullied at school?” Brad glanced between us. “He is bastard hench. Have you seen the size of his fists? Why is he tolerating their torments?”

“I don’t know.” Alexa moved behind Brad, parting his shoulder-length hair into two sections. “Maybe I can call the headmaster and ask him to keep an eye on the situation.” While Brad rolled a blunt, she braided his mane. “So, I was thinking…” Tying the plaited ends with a bobble, she went to work on the left section. “Kathy.”

I became guarded. “What about her?”

“I’d like to visit her graveside,” Alexa said cautiously, and I glimpsed to my right-hand man to see him anticipating my reaction. “I can lay flowers and—”

“No.” Kathy’s unworthy of Alexa’s sympathy. “Your sister’s dead. It’s done.”

Alexa tapped Brad’s shoulder to let him know she’d finished. “I’d like you to reconsider.”

“No,” I said in an authoritative manner.

She stared at me. “Why not?”

Driven into vexation, I claimed the smouldering blunt from Brad and took a long, numbing drag. “Because I said so, that’s why.”

“You are so unreasonable?” Her irritation stretched. “I asked nicely, Liam.”

“Why do you even care?”

“She is my sister,” she said matter-of-factly.

“Was,” I corrected, shrouded in marijuana-infused haze. “Past tense. Kathy is dead.”

A look of indignation crossed her face. “Thanks to you.”

I got my backup. “Do we have a problem?”

“Yes, actually.” Her footsteps stomped into the kitchen. “I want to lay flowers. Who are you to deny me?”

“I am your husband.” I followed her down the hall. “I know what’s good for you.”

“No.” Alexa turned so quickly, she collided into my chest. “You are a monomaniacal martinet.”

“Correct. I am obsessed with my wife.” Smoke crawled from my lips. “And her safety.”

“Laying flowers is non-hazardous,” she emphasised smugly, ascending the bifurcated staircase. “You’d think I asked to strut through a minefield. I merely wish to visit a loved one.”

“Why that confrontational attitude?” I asked, chasing her into the master bedroom. “Need I remind you, Kathy almost killed you. If it weren’t for me, she’d have succeeded. You’d be dead.”

Pulling the oversized T-shirt over her head, Alexa extracted the black leggings, leaving herself in matching white lingerie, which made concentration an unbreathable challenge. “Kathy was sick.” She sat on the velvet padded footstool in front of the vanity table, and our eyes connected in the lighted mirror. “Death was not the answer. My sister clearly had mental health issues.”

“Insanity aside, Kathy double-crossed the syndicate.” My shoulder rested on the door frame. “Her blood was to stain my hands. Irrelevant to the fact I am in love with her sister.”

“You speak of Kathy as though she was beneath you.” She twisted on the seat to face me, and with the haughty twinkle in her sliced eyes, I knew she had psyched up for a fight. “It’s laughable. You were more than happy to accommodate my sister when aroused.”

“You are unbelievable.” I shook my head in bewilderment. “It’s gone past sentimentalism. Now, you seek a confessional statement.”

“I am not interested in your relationship with Kathy.” Her sudden coldness suggested otherwise. “I am highlighting facts.”

“I love sex.” Blowing out the smoke, I opened the bedroom window to chuck the blunt outside. “Kathy made herself available to me, which isn’t news to you. I used her to my advantage. Again, you are privy to the meaninglessness of our sexual relations. You judge me, yet the feeling was mutual between us.” Her sad eyes tugged on my heartstrings. “Kathy never loved me. She despised me.” I laid a hand on her knee as I crouched at her side. “Alexa, I do not understand your harboured jealousy. Have I not shown you, time and time again, how much I love you?”

Alexa refused to look at me. “We never really addressed the area of you and Kathy.”

“What is there to address?” I asked angrily, and her brows knitted. “Do you require sordid details, is that it? Do you wish to know how many times we had sex? Where we had sex? Did I moan her name as she rode my cock?” Infuriated by tactlessness, she whacked my hand from her knee, and I stood taller. “Not that I reminisce about our time together, but if you must know, I misremembered everything about the woman. Kathy was not memorable or deserving of acclimation. I fucked her to blow off some steam. It’s called angry, loveless fucking. Fortunately for you, you never had to experience the unaffectionate side of me.”

“Because you were so affectionate at the beginning,” she muttered sarcastically, erasing tonight’s makeup with facial wipes. “The first time we had sex—”

“I made love to you,” I spoke sharply, and the harsh lines on her forehead weakened. “I quite literally worshipped every inch of your body. When I kissed you, I felt the intensity in my chest. When I went to work the following morning, I thought about you all day. When I saw you in the club’s hall, laughing with Josh, I wanted to snap his neck for being able to make you smile when I couldn’t.”

Regret misted Alexa’s eyes. “Liam…”

“When you crashed into my life, no other woman stood a chance. You know it. I know it.” My face screwed up in disappointment. “Yet you behave irrationally immature by entertaining the ghosts of my past.”

Embarrassed by her nonsensical childishness, Alexa’s face pinkened. “I am so sorry,” she whispered, her mouth hidden behind the back of her hand. “I don’t know what’s come over me.” She rose from the stool, smoothing her hands down her thighs, and came closer to splay her fingers on my chest. “I will never discuss Kathy again, Liam. I promise.”

“I see no issue with you holding onto your sister’s memory.” My arm enveloped her lower back. “I do, however, draw the line at illogical contemptuousness.” I palmed her cheek, and we nodded in unified finality. Although reassured, her remorseful demeanour motivated compliance. “Nate buried Kathy’s body. He shall provide the location in the morning.”

Alexa’s lips rounded in surprise. “Liam.” Her voice was a mere whisper. “Oh, God.” Fisting the hair at the back of my head, she smothered my face in grateful kisses. “Thank you; thank you; thank you.” Her lips met mine. “You have no idea how happy this makes me.” She thrust me onto the bed and climbed on top of me, her knees positioned to the mattress, her passionate kiss stealing the air from my lungs. “I love you.” When she ground against me, noticing the limpness of my cock, she lifted her head in confusion. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Admiring Alexa’s beautiful face, I raised the drooped bra strap from her arm to her shoulder. “What?”

“I wear next to nothing. You haven’t so much as stirred.” Then, adeptly, she reached behind her back, unclipped the white bra and, tantalisingly slow, revealed her taut nipples. “Liam?”

My throat thickened as my hands toured her waist. “You are so fucking beautiful.” Staring at her with bated breath, with veneration and endless love, I swept my thumbs across her perky breasts. “I am in love with my wife.”

Her mouth flattened. “But?”

“I miss you,” I whispered, and her head cocked in puzzlement. “I miss your insatiableness.” My fingers tousled in her hair. I kissed her from cheek to cheek. “I miss the look in your eyes when I touch you.” I brushed my thumb over her mouth. “You weaponise sex to prevail in disagreements. You fuck me like I am a chore.”

Aghast by the accusation, Alexa jolted to her haunches. “I wish you’d stop saying that.”

Between her legs, I slipped my exploratory hand beneath the flimsy thong, through her plump folds, and dryness grazed my fingertips. “I once had the power to kiss my wife and drench her lace in arousal. Lately,” I withdrew my arm in despondence, “I am lucky if she orgasms.” Her lips sought mine, and I gave her my cheek. “I will never stop wanting you. But I will not tolerate feigned intimacy. If you want me for reasons other than demands and pregnancy?” Rolling from beneath her, I climbed off the bed and, imperturbable yet somewhat chagrined, managed to uphold eye contact. “I am yours.” I smiled flatly. “Food for thought.”

***

I peered up from the laptop when Alfie entered my office. “Close the door,” I instructed, and he obliged. “Take a seat.”

Adopting graceful composure, Alfie unbuttoned his suit jacket and became seated.

I soared from the leather chair. At the mini bar, I poured two whiskeys within the careful examination of his watchfulness. “Neat?” I asked, and he mumbled appreciation. “Do you know why I requested a meeting?”

“Yes.” His eyes pinched shut. “I left Mrs Warren defenceless.”

“You neglected your duties, and Alexa encountered danger.” I set his glass on the desk and returned to my seat. “Your negligence had grave consequences. What is your excuse?”

“No excuses, Sir.” His fingers loosened the collar of his shirt. “I am most reprehensible for poor decision making.”

“I extended an olive branch.” I glared at him over the rim of my whiskey glass. “Do you not accept my token of peace?”

Alfie picked up the glass and swallowed liquor in one mouthful. “Thank you, Sir.”

“The Macallan Red Collection.” Savouring the spiced flavours on my tongue, I waited for the burn to travel downward. “A gift from my wife.”

“Mrs Warren has great taste.”

“Indeed.” Pulling open the desk drawer, I combed through files and slid an NDA form across the desk. “Alexa vouched for your immunity tonight. You will express gratitude.”

Once more, Alfie’s eyes closed, only, this time, in momentary thankfulness. “Of course, Sir.”

“You will hand in your notice,” I said imperiously, and, in the face of devastation, he grabbed the pen, the nib hovering above the dotted line. “You allowed Alexa’s soft-hearted nature to cloud your judgment. I pay you extortionately to be on guard at all times, not to sit around, imbibing alcohol with a bunch of brainless idiots whilst my wife resists adversaries.”

“I love my job,” he began to argue, and I silenced him with a raised hand.

“I am to replace you with an appropriate bodyguard.” He placed a hand on the desk while he signed the non-disclosure agreement. I studied the diamond ring on his trigger finger. “I’m sure you understand.”

Snatching Alfie’s hand from across the desk, I withstood his struggle, revealed the hidden meat cleaver and slammed the honed blade below his knuckles, docking four flesh-hacked fingers. In excruciating pain, he howled in despair, grasping his damaged, open-fleshed fist as he shot to his feet.

I tossed the bloodstained cleaver on the floor. “Quiet,” I ordered, and, whimpering in anguish, Alfie pressed his mouth together, the blood from his amputated fingers drenching his white shirt. “You have an hour to collect your shit and leave the property.” I seized his jaw, forcing him to face me head-on. “If you loiter, I will ignore my wife’s plea by putting a bullet in your skull. Have I made myself abundantly fucking clear?”

“Sir,” he whimpered as nerve-stricken tears flowered down his cheeks.

Sneering, I shoved him out of my grasp. “Get out.”

His footfalls faltered. “Please reconsider,” he said gallantly, the sweat on his brow trickling fresh dewdrops. “Mrs Warren is, and will always be, prioritised. Yes, I made a mistake. But I can guarantee that you will never find someone more committed to the job than me.”

“You are of no use to me.” My mouth curved. “See yourself out.”

Panting through hot flushes, Alfie struggled to open the office door when Nate, who had arrived in response to my text message, assisted from the other side.

Watching Alfie scurry away with a puzzled frown, Nate, locking the door upon entry, arched a pierced eyebrow. “What the fuck happened to him?”

Unfolding the white napkin, I picked up Alfie’s finger from the desk and removed the diamond ring. “I dismissed Alfie from duty.”

Nate went to the minibar, helping himself to the gin bottle.

“You will take his place.” Hurling the man’s digit in the bin, I put the ring inside the drawer, eased onto the chair and kicked my feet onto the desk. “Alexa is your responsibility until further notice.”

Although displeased to be on babysitting duties, Nate dipped his head. “Sir.” He collected Alfie’s severed digits alongside the bin liner, ready to discard. “Anything else?”

“I need you to provide a fake drivers licence for Alexa.” Tilting the laptop screen, I showed him the customised Mercedes. “What do you think?”

Nate’s head appeared over my shoulder. “Nice.” He loaded a second window to search for private licence plates. “A Warren,” he drawled, sending the information to the printer. “I predict many casualties with Alexa behind the wheel.” His backside perched onto the desk edge. “Vincent?”

“Last I checked,” I murmured into the glass, “Vincent’s still breathing.”

Detecting the bitterness in my voice, Nate uncapped the whiskey bottle to refill my glass. “Do you want to talk about it?”

If I wished to offload, I’d go to Brad. I trust both men with my life. I do not trust Blaire, though. “No.”

Nate’s lips pursed. “I have to be at the club in the morning to change over the kegs.” He kicked away from the desk and went to the door. “Do you need me for anything before I leave?”

“No.” Turning in my seat to face the window, I stared into the dimly lit gardens, hearing the door close behind him. Expelling a veil of smoke, I inhaled another drag, snubbed the cigarette in the marble ashtray and belatedly spotted the brown envelope on the mahogany dresser. Ashtray put to the side, I tore through the seal, and a penned note from Reginald fell onto my lap.

Warren,

After our phone call regarding Vincent’s mother, Valerie Wentworth, I did a little digging to see what I could uncover. I tried to give you these documents in person, but your wife refused visitation until you were back on your feet.

I took the liberty of hunting down the farmhouse in Totteridge Green. It turned out to be a fake address. For some reason, Vincent does not want anyone to know his mother’s location. I mean, with his dangerous line of work, I can hardly say that I blame him.

It is safer to keep loved ones out of reach.

Anyway, if you wish to speak with Valerie, you can find her in Furnham, London (I attached the address). I drove down her street (to prevent another dead lead) and saw the woman in the garden, hanging washing on the line.

I hope this helps,

Reginald.

I extracted the document from the envelope and spread everything onto the desk. Overlooking the property details, I alternately viewed the snapshots Reginald had unobtrusively captured of Valerie Wentworth as she pegged laundry to the rotary washing line. Fifteen photos, yet none provided a precise angle of her face.

Typing the address into my phone, I stuffed the document into the drawer, fished out the Bentley keys and made it to the front door…

No, I will not confront this woman in slouch pants and trainers. If Valerie Wentworth is my birth mother, she will crane her neck to regard me in my true form.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Alexa

Logan is stretched across his blue-covered king-sized bed with over-ear headphones blaring indistinct music in his ears. He is overindulging in late-night snacks: Pringles, chocolate bars, fizzy drinks and sherbet straws. Immersed in ballpoint biro pens, sketch pencils and paper, he oscillated between noshing junk food and writing inside an old, overused journal.

I smiled at him. “Are you okay?”

Through lip-reading, Logan replied, “Yeah.” He tugged the headphones to his neck, closed the journal and proffered irresistible treats. “You can sample the goods.”

Tearing into the rustling package, I sat at the end of the bed, abreast faux fur throw blankets and bejewelled scatter cushions, and scarfed down toffee-flavoured popcorn kernels. “Brad can be fairly oppressive. His heart is in the right place, though.”

“He’s a dickhead,” Logan cursed, and I glared. “What? It’s true. And Liam’s no better.” Paying no heed to the wandering Suit, he sat up and fumbled with multi-coloured skittles. “Why did you marry that guy, Alexa? You are, like, such a nice person, but you chose to settle down with a criminal. I still can’t wrap my head around it.”

How many times do we need to have this conversation?

“I killed someone tonight,” I said without a hint of emotion or regret, knowing damn well the pretending-to-listen-to-music stunt is Logan’s camouflage tactic to wiretap into conversations. “I know you heard. I saw the uneasiness in your eyes when I returned home. In fact, I think you know a lot more than you admit.”

“It was self-defence.” He remained unruffled. “You only hurt the guy because he hurt you first.”

“In the past, I have murdered unjustifiably.” Having lost my appetite, I set the popcorn bag aside. “I do not wish to upset you. In saying that, it’s high time you and I addressed some grey areas. Yes, Liam is a career criminal. Yes, his employees commit unspeakable crimes on demand. Yes, The Warren Enterprise is a public front organisation used to conceal illegitimate business. Now, I can sit here all night, rationalising the set of circumstances, but I refuse to do so.

“Since you moved into the Manor, everyone has gone above and beyond to make your time here pleasant, comfortable and safe, which, as sad as it may seem, is more than your mother provided. You quite literally want for nothing.

“I am cash-rich for life.” I took his hand in mine. “Am I independent? Yes. Do I contribute financially? Yes. However, if you compare success and prosperity, Liam triumphs. He is the reason for the top-of-the-range vehicles, the magnificent house and inexhaustible resources.” My thumb brushed his knuckles. “He is the reason you needn’t worry if Cyril’s inebriated, angry or violent, or if your mother has paid her debts or if she went grocery shopping to feed you. You can shower, change into clean clothes and attend school without walking for miles in the rain, or looking over your shoulder in constant fear.

“My husband scares you,” I whispered, and his head hung low. “Let me tell you something about Liam Warren. When he hates someone, there isn’t a force within the city of London that can parry his foray. But when he cares and loves someone unreservedly, he will move mountains to protect them. He put his neck on the line to help you,” I added, and he frowned in conceptualisation. “Someday, maybe not today or tomorrow, you will thank the man for your liberation. You might even see beyond the inconceivable and fall in love with him. Just like I did when he saved me.”

He listened intently.

“With this in mind, can you honestly say life with us is worse than past tribulations?” Sliding the reverse facing ball cap off his head, I curled dark hair behind his ear. “Please give us a chance to do right by you. I cannot promise perfection. I will make mistakes, Liam will make mistakes, but I can assure you, no one…” A hard knot pushed up my throat. When I met this beautiful young boy, it was love at first sight. For whatever strange, unexplainable reason, I felt as though Logan belonged to me. I still do, for that matter. Life would be no life at all if I had to say goodbye. I had so much to offer, so much to give. Even on his sixteenth birthday, when Liam sends him away, I plan to maintain a healthy, somewhat motherly relationship with him.

I will be there for Logan every step of the way if it’s what his heart desires. I want to support him financially. I want to attend his graduation when his chosen university awards his degree, and when he meets his first love and needs an overbearing someone to break the ice at family dinner, I want to be the person to welcome them home.

My chest ached. “No one will love you the same way I do.”

After a long period of silence, Logan pulled me into his embrace, his arms around my back, tight and determined. I stared at the ceiling, the bright light suppressing tears. “No more judgments,” he said with sheepish sorrow. “I don’t hate you or Liam. Not even a little bit, so I don’t understand why I am angry and frustrated. But I am sorry for any trouble or upset caused.”

“It’s been a tough road for you.” I rubbed his back. “It’ll take time, Logan.”

He wiped his cheeks and eased back to look at me. “I promise to make an effort.” He smiled a sad smile. “Although, Brad’s a bit extra. I’m not sure how to handle that one.”

I laughed lightly. “As I said, Brad’s heart is in the right place.”

“You were not here when the pizza guy knocked on the door,” he said in bafflement. “Brad threatened him for forgetting the dips and then degradingly threw pennies at his back for a tip. Alexa, I felt vicarious embarrassment. He’s hostile and unfriendly, but he smiles, so it is, like, confusing. I never know if he’s joking or serious.”

“Oh, Brad’s deadly serious. He’s antagonistic and derives pleasure from other people’s humiliation. I think he’s Liam’s secret weapon, but he’d never admit as much aloud.”

Logan’s engrossed. “Nate’s kinda cool. He offered to help me in the gym,” he said conversationally. “You guys are one big family, huh?”

“They are the only family I have.” My mind wandered for a second. “Can I borrow these?” I held up the black marker pen and the unused notepad. “I need to do some soul searching.”

“Sure.” He tidied the mess on his bed. “Goodnight, Alexa.”

I lingered by the door. “Goodnight, Logan.”

Ripping blank pages out of the notepad, I folded each sheet in half and tore them down the middle to create flimsy flashcards. Inside the master bedroom, I leant on the vanity table to write notes, speaking from the heart, if you may.

Detecting running water, I looked to the bathroom door, inhaled a deep breath and entered the en-suite.

I watched Liam lather his hair beneath the faucet, suds tickling between the blades of his muscular back, as condensation dripped down the glass shower door. Lowering his head in exasperation, he pressed his palms to the wall tiles and lost himself in a moment’s silence.

I knocked on the glass door.

Scrubbing a hand down his face, Liam, from under knitted brows, glimpsed over one shoulder. “Alexa?”

Putting a finger to my lips, I shook my head and showed him the first card.

We struggle to communicate.

Inquisitiveness replaced his dark frown.

So, I thought we could try something different.

We fight.

We argue.

We kiss.

We make up.

It is a vicious cycle.

His hand erased the condensation off the glass.

I switched the card.

I lost my child.

So did you.

Liam studied my features.

It broke my heart.

It broke yours, too.

You feel like a failure.

I feel like one, too.

Ignoring the tightening in my throat, I presented the next card.

It was supposed to be easy.

You would replace the one we lost.

I would bring him into the world.

My mouth suddenly felt dry.

If only life were that simple?

Liam’s eyes briefly closed.

Depression became my friend.

Pregnancy became an obsession…

His lips parted to interject, and I shook my head again.

Do I need a baby to feel complete?

On the verge of tears, I flashed the response.

No.

Shuffling through the next pile, I respired a stuttered breath.

I am selfish.

I have lost sight of what’s important.

You.

We smiled in unison.

I love you, Liam.

And if there were no babies…

I would still love you.

I placed the rest of the cards onto the marble sideboard.

“You will never be a chore,” I whispered, drawing a heart on the glass. “You will always be my everything.” My lips wobbled in resoluteness. “I don’t want to try anymore.”

Liam cracked open the shower door.

His eyes beckoned me.

I stepped into the cubicle, the soft sprays soaking my T-shirt, and pushed off my tiptoes to wrap my arms around his neck. His nose nudged mine, and then, passionately unrushed, he kissed me. Water mixed with tears coated my cheeks. Lazily sweeping my tongue in his mouth, I melted in his strong arms. “I’m sorry,” I breathed against his lips. “Please forgive me.”

“There is nothing to forgive.” His forehead rested on mine. “Are you positive?”

Before the pregnancy, I had never considered motherhood. I barely knew how to look after myself, never mind raising tiny humans.

Serena’s betrayal left me scarred and embittered. I had an unshakable urge to seek vengeance, to prove the world wrong, to take back what evil had stolen from me.

Maybe I craved children for the wrong reasons.

If I hadn’t suffered, I would be consumed with something else entirely.

“Yes,” I said without a shadow of a doubt. “I will never be a mother. And I am finally coming to terms with the matter.” My fingertip traced his eyebrow. “Besides, I quite like my vagina intact.”

“Fucking hell.” His fingers tousled in my hair. “I prefer the word cunt.”

I shuddered at his vulgarity. “Why must you be so crass?”

“You love it.” Searing my jawline with open-mouthed kisses, he hiked up my T-shirt to hold my waist. “So, it’s you and me.”

Biting his earlobe, I teased, “For all of eternity.”

His low, sexy smirk uncaged butterflies in my chest. “There is nowhere else I’d rather be.”

***

I woke up alone in an empty bed. Whilst fixing the coverlets and rearranging the display cushions, I figured Liam got up early to work from home, but when I carried his coffee to the office, I discovered a bloodied meat cleaver on the floor and Reginald’s crumpled up note on the desk.

Pouring the coffee down the kitchen sink, I traipsed through the Manor’s silent halls to the guestroom, rapped my knuckles on the door and, mentally equipped for his verbal lambasting or his gyrating shlong, gingerly peeped inside the pitch-black room. “Brad,” I whisper-shout, and he groaned something undetectable into the pillow. “Are you awake?”

“No.” He shifted his sprawled out body, the sheet beneath him ruffling. “Unless you came with breakfast.”

This man…

I returned ten minutes later with plated toast and black coffee. “Here.” My nose twitched. “God, what is that awful smell?”

“I farted.” Brad pulled himself upright. “Open the curtains.”

Tear-stricken by his malodorous flatulence, I did as instructed.

Shielding his eyes from the sun’s morning rays, Brad balanced the plate on his thigh and sipped coffee. “Why did you disturb my slumber?” he asked, biting into buttery toast. “Christ, I am a big man, sugar tits. I need more than two pieces to function.”

“I am not your slave.” Holding down the bottom of my dress, I perched onto the bed, crossing my leg over the opposite knee. “So, I roused at the crack of dawn, did my bathroom business—”

“Bathroom business?” Brad was straight-faced. “I live in a blissful world where women never shit in the bog or pick their nose, so skip the details and preserve my universe.”

“I showered and brushed my teeth.” I felt the need to defend myself. “Back to the point. Liam absquatulated the Manor.” His nonplussed stare went to the door in suspicion. “And there is a blood-soaked meat cleaver inside his office. So, who did my husband mutilate?”

He untied his braids. “Alfie.”

“What?” Dread settled in my stomach. “Liam promised not to hurt him.”

“Hey, don’t shoot the messenger.” He surrendered with raised hands. “Get the wedgie out of your ass. Alfie lost a few fingers. He will live.” Sucking melted butter from his thumb, he set the empty plate on the bedside table. “About Warren. What’s the question?”

Making a mental note to speak to my husband regarding Alfie, I handed Brad the note from Reginald.

He skimmed paragraphs.

“Liam demands answers, right?” My fingers outlined the duvet’s sequined pattern. “Will he kill Valerie?”

“Honestly, I couldn’t fucking tell you.” Placing his folded arms behind his head, he relaxed against the velvet headboard. “It’s what she deserves.”

I am agreeably tight-lipped.

His foot nudged my knee. “Are you going to answer your phone?”

Belatedly feeling vibrations on my chest, I delved into my bra to extract the phone and saw text messages—one from an unrecognisable number, the other from Nate.

Nate: I am en route.

I replied.

Me: I beg your pardon?

Nate: Warren assigned me to your security detail.

My eyes bugged out of my head.

Me: Where is Alfie?

Nate: I am not authorised to discuss Alfie.

Me: Then, I shall beat it out of you.

Nate: Har. Har.

Me: I have zero plans until work.

Me: You are dismissed.

Nate: Funny.

Me: Hilarious.

Nate: Comical.

Me: Childish.

Nate: Wounded.

Me: Nate, don’t you have someone else to pester?

Nate: I am driving you to Kathy.

Excitement bubbled.

Me: Today?

Nate: No. Next week.

Me: Asshole.

Nate: Yes, today. Be ready.

Me: I love you.

Nate: Ditto.

“Enjoy the rest of your coffee.” Bursting from the seams, I rushed towards the door. “And for crying out loud. Spray some air freshener.”

As I retraced to the master bedroom, I loaded the other message.

Unknown: Hey! I got your number from Grayson.So, what happened? You disappeared. Everyone’s worried about you.

Me: Chloe?

Unknown: The one and only.

Me: Long story short: I encountered some drama in the female restroom.

Three dots bounced on the screen.

Chloe: Coffee?

My movements faltered.

Me: When?

Chloe: I am free all day.

I chewed the inside of my cheek.

Me: Well, I am visiting Kathy’s graveside today.

Chloe. Oh, well, don’t let me hold you up.

Chloe: Lay some flowers for me?

Me: Technically, I have you to thank for this…

Me: Do you want to accompany an old friend?

Chloe: Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to intrude.

Me: Don’t be silly. Besides, you promised to arrange bouquets.

Chloe: I did! I promise not to disappoint.

I uncapped red lipstick and painted my lips.

Chloe: Is it okay if Dominic comes with us? Only, his childminders frown upon last minute requests. They prefer five days’ notice.

Me: Of course. I would love to see him.

Chloe: Great. Where shall I meet you?

Me: Nate is driving. Perhaps we can come to your place?

Chloe: Harold will have an aneurysm.

I stepped into Louboutin heels.

Chloe: Nate…

Me: Right.

Chloe: Why don’t I drive to your place? I can leave the car on the drive and jump in with you guys.

I sent her the address.

Me: I will see you soon.

Chloe: X

***

Babies necessitated so much equipment: car seat, sunshade window screen, pram, rain covers, parasol, bottle-feeding supplies, wipes, nappies, extra blankets and so forth. It’s an adventure, to say the least. Luckily, Nate purchased a brand-new Audi Q7 recently, so Chloe’s haul of baby supplies fitted in the boot beneath the beautiful floral arrangements she created using garden roses, greenery and beribboned garlands.

Nate is oddly quiet. He also drives one-handed while reading text messages on his phone. If Chloe weren’t in the backseat, I’d ask if he’s okay or if he wants to talk about the worry lines plastered on his forehead. I peered at the screen out of the corner of my eye and had to stop said eyes from curving inwards. Blaire. Jessica Pearce. Lucifer’s wicked bitch from Hell. The bane of my life. Transcended jealousy manifested her furious text messages.

Where are you?

When will you be home?

Will you be with Alexa all day?

Why are you ignoring me?

I will call you, Nathaniel.

Where is Alexa right now?

I snorted.

I am sitting right beside your man, bitch.

Nate set the phone on his thigh. “You good, Alexa?” Accusation iced his timbered voice. “Do you need something?”

“Why does she hate me?” I care not for his discomfort. I demand answers. “I am married to your boss, yet for some unfathomable reason, she deems me a threat to your relationship.” In the rear-view mirror, I see Chloe’s head turn as if to disappear from the two-way conversation. “Well?”

“Alexa…” Nate threaded the steering wheel through his inked hands. “Look, it’s complicated. Blaire’s adopted trust issues. You understand.” He’s referring to the heinousness of captivity with Flamur Bajramovic. “She’ll get there, right?”

“She has no reason to distrust me, though. It’s not as though you and I share a history together.”

“You could be anyone,” he said wearily. “If Blaire knew Chloe sat in the back, I’d get an earful for her, too. It’s women in general. I ain’t cheated on her, but as I said, the girl’s got trust issues.”

Blaire’s hatred towards me ran deeper than characterised trust issues. For Nate’s sake, I smiled along. “Well, I am sure it’s nothing therapy cannot fix. Perhaps a little nudge to the doctor’s office might help. I mean, it must be exhausting for you. I know Liam’s your boss, but he’s your friend—your brother. I don’t want her issues causing a wedge between you guys.”

Nate passed me a side-long glance. “I know.” Turning down the side street, he mounted the curbside, beeped the car horn and waited impatiently for Josh to exit his grandmother’s house. “If he mentions food, I will crucify him.”

Modelling a two-piece navy suit, Josh, the top buttons of his shirt left open, jogged lightly towards the car. Cartier sunglasses framed his eyes, but I felt the intensity of his scowl when he spotted me in the passenger side. “Brutal,” he said upon swinging the backseat door open. “I live on the outskirts, so you kick me into the back. Nice, Nate. I am not offended at all.” He pinned Chloe with a long, pointed look. “What the fuck is she doing here?”

The Audi’s tyres kicked up dust as Nate accelerated away from the Fitzpatrick property.

“What?” He asked me. “So, you two kissed and made up, huh?” Their icy stares locked when he asked, “How’s Harold?”

“Fine,” Chloe clipped, her hands faffing with Dominic’s blanket. “How’s the ego?”

“Indestructible.” Josh popped a bright blue chewing gum bubble. “Pity we can’t say the same for your husband’s jaw.”

Chloe’s shoulders raised as she drew in a lungful of air. “Alexa?”

“Josh,” I warned, and he gave me the middle finger. “Be nice.”

“What are you saying?” He reached out to squeeze Nate’s shoulders. “I am nice. Tell them, Nate.”

“Josh is…” Nate’s smile turned into a shit-eating grin. “Special.”

“Whatever.” Josh reclined his leather seat and, ever so nosy, peaked into the baby’s car seat. “Christ, what the fuck do you feed him? Where’s his neck?” His lips grimaced. “Where are his wrists?”

“Hey,” Chloe scolded. “It’s baby fat. Chubbiness is quite normal.”

“Poor fucker.” Josh continued his onslaught of opprobrious remarks. “If you want him to walk at some point in the future, you might want to cut back on overfeeding.”

“Really?” Her eyebrows lifted. “Are you an expert on babies, Josh? How many children have you raised?”

“Touché.” He glimpsed at his wristwatch. “So, can we make a pit stop? Let’s say, in an hour. I’ll need to stretch my legs. Empty the bladder.” He caught Chloe’s unrestrained eye roll. “Get my cock out and piss on a tree.”

“Nice,” she muttered.

He winked. “Plus, I need to eat.”

Nate and I shared a look.

“I fancy a taco or two.” Josh read a message on his phone. “Don’t worry, Nate. I’ll stuff them with lettuce.”

Silence fell among us, so I leaned forward to play around with the radio. I was flicking through songs when Nate smacked my hand. “Chill,” he drawled, wiring his phone to the system. “I have a good playlist.” He selected the Four Tops. “Get comfortable. We have a long drive.”

“Fucking kill me,” Josh complained, stealing one of Dominic’s white blankets to cover his face. “Wake me up when his balls grow back.”

Nate tsked. “Ain’t nothing wrong with my balls.”

Josh’s one eye appeared over the blanket’s frilly corner. “Your taste in music says otherwise.”

“He gets on my nerves.” Nate veered the Audi onto the M4 and settled in cruise control. “If you stay too long,” he sings, his low, manly voice oddly satisfying. “The magic down there is so strong.”

Forty-five minutes later…

Chloe’s asleep.

Josh snored.

“I’m weaker than a man should be.” Nate adjusted the windscreen wipers to see through the downpour. “I can’t help myself. I want you and nobody else.”

Listening to Nate’s impassioned singing, I scrolled through my old Instagram account, wondering when I obtained over fifteen thousand followers. I posted no more than twenty images in the past, yet all these people, who seemingly knew me, followed my journey. “Do you use social media?”

Biting into a protein bar, Nate scoffed. “Hell, no.”

“Where are we going?” I locked my phone. “Did you seriously drive this far to discard my sister’s body?”

“Warren contemplated acid,” he told me, and I shivered from head to toe. Jesus, Liam’s barbarous at times. “I guess his concern for you altered the plan.”

I rubbed my forehead. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You loved your sister.” Nate indicated right and skirted the roundabout. “Warren hates it but can’t change it. He opted for her burial just in case you ever asked to visit. And what do you know? He was right.” His jaw clenched. “I am currently driving you to her plot.”

Realisation thudded my heart. “But Liam made the judgment call way before he and I started dating.”

“Yeah.” He glared at traffic congestion ahead. “Everyone underestimated how much he cared, Alexa.”

Josh complained about famishment in his sleep. Somewhere along our travels, he had unconsciously lolled his head on Chloe’s shoulder and cocked one leg over her thighs.

“I need to use the bathroom.” My gaze revisited the rear-view window. “And buy coffee.”

In agreement, Nate drove for a further fifteen minutes, locating a bustling service station. He parked the Audi. “Josh.” He reached into the backseat to startle the sleeping Suit. “Now is your chance to fatten up.”

Chloe rubbed her eyes. “Are we there?”

“No.” Nate’s thumbs tapped his phone screen. “Go to the service station with Alexa and Josh.”

“Would you mind if I stayed here with Dominic?” she asked. “I don’t need anything. I packed water.”

“Do you want coffee?” I unbuckled the seat belt. “A sandwich, perhaps.”

“I’m okay, Hon.” She, too, checked messages on her phone. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

“Okay.” Utilising the Birkin handbag as an umbrella, I chased behind Josh as he powered towards the building. “Wait for me!” Heavy rain drenched us within seconds. “Shit, I stepped in a puddle.”

The entrance’s motion sensor doors separated.

Josh fished out his wallet. “Do you want to use the bathroom?”

I nodded.

Whilst I relieved my bladder, Josh stood in the echoing hallway for my return. We swung by the convenience store to buy sugary treats and gossip magazines and then to the coffee corner. I held the beverages for him to sink his teeth into two burgers, which he inhaled before we got back to the car.

“For you.” Dropping packaged salad and a container of boiled eggs with spinach onto Nate’s lap, I yanked the passenger seat belt across my chest and clipped it into place. “So, now what?”

Josh stuffed seasoned fries in his mouth. “It’s not too far.”

“Yeah, about that…” Nate twisted the key in the ignition. Nothing happened. “I can’t get the car to start.”

“What?” Chloe sat taller. “But Dominic’s due another feed soon. I only have two bottles left.”

With the phone to his ear, Nate slipped out of the Audi. “I’ll call some local garages.”

I watched Nate pace through the widow. He ended the call, dialled another number and kicked a pebble across the car park.

Josh slurped strawberry milkshake through the straw. “I call dibs on the biggest bed.”

I shot Josh a puzzled look. “What bed?”

Nate opened the driver’s door and crouched until he and I were eye-level. “Temporary stay.” He pointed to the three-star hotel nestled between the service station and the eerie woodlands area. “It’s only for a few hours until the mechanic shows, and then I can get us back on the road.”

“I don’t know…” Chloe looked ready to vomit. “Harold—”

“Fuck Harold,” Josh snapped, and Dominic, startled out of restful slumber, shrieked at the top of his lungs. “Put a dummy in his mouth!”

“Stop yelling at me!” Chloe fired back, unbuckling her son to soothe him. “It’s your stupid mouth that frightened him.”

Josh’s half-eaten chicken wrap fell into the brown paper bag. “Two rooms,” he said to Nate, though, his eyes drilled into my friend. “I cannot be within the same proximity as this nagging bint.”

“Speak for yourself.” She hugged Dominic to her chest. “You are not exactly convivial, Josh.”

“Alexa,” Nate said while opening the trunk. “Go and check us into two rooms. Josh can help me unload the boot.”

“Can I have Dominic’s pram?” Chloe asked politely, already unfolding the rain covers. “I don’t want to chance him getting wet.”

Nate transferred the pram to the floor. “How do I open it?” He nudged the metal frame with the tip of his leather shoe. “Where are the buttons?”

“I can do it. Alexa,” Chloe passed Dominic through the seats, “hold him for me.”

“I—what? No, don’t leave me with the baby…” She climbed out of the vehicle, slamming the door shut. “Great.” He was sobbing, and I felt impossibly useless. “Hey, don’t cry,” I cooed, which worsened his ear-piercing shrills. “Oh, you are not a happy human right now.” Carefully laying him in my arms, I snuggled him close and tucked my little finger into his clenched fist. “You’re beautiful.”

My whispered voice seemed to pacify Dominic. His bottom lip sticking out, he studied my unfamiliar face as his chubby legs stiffly kicked against the blanket. And then, ever so slightly, the corner of his top lip curled into a half-smile. It’s probably the result of too much wind, but I convinced myself he smiled at me. “Are you smiling?” I said in a soft, child-like voice unrecognisable to my ears. “Am I silly?” I leaned down to place a gentle kiss on his forehead, and his hand captured my ear. “Oh, you are strong.” He made a pleasant noise, and I melted inside. “Can I have my ear back?” Blowing raspberries, he kicked his legs again, only this time, with excitement. His amber coloured eyes were wide and flecked in gold. I am transfixed. No, I am absolutely smitten. “You—”

“All sorted.” Chloe took him from my arms, and I suddenly felt empty. “Can you carry his changing bag, Hon?”

I cleared my throat. “Of course.”

CHAPTER FORTY

Liam

I drove the Bentley down the windy, tree-lined country road. Strewn gravel crepitating beneath the tyres, I eased onto the brake, rested my forearm across the steering wheel, and lowered my head to look through the windshield. I am lost. I saw the weeping willow tree fifteen minutes ago when I sped past and turned sharply into a dead end.

Mounting the small, leaf-covered knoll, I killed the engine, stuffed the keys inside my trouser pocket and stepped onto waterlogged grass.

Deciding to look around on foot, I trudged below incurvated trees, where the morning sunlight, finding its way through whistling leaves, bestrewed kaleidoscopic colours on the ground.

Damp, moss-encrusted tree bark effused petrichor, the clear, narrow stream, rippled over low-surfaced rocks. Holding the rough beam of an old, rickety fence, I stalled to admire the picturesque creek, to listen to the hypnotic water while my inner voice, loud and officious, evoked forgotten memories.

“Where ye been, lad?” Bill, his dark, sun-kissed skin, dusted in sweat, emerged from the twilit cave in double-knotted cargo shorts. “I have been lookin’ everywhere for ye.”

I waded through the lukewarm river, clambered onto the steep, rocky bank and chased Bill down the cragged slope towards the sinkhole, where he unravelled the frayed towel around his head to rinse blond bleach from his dreadlocks. “I found a new family.”

“Did ye?” His bare feet positioned on either side of the hole, he cupped water and doused his head. “Go on, lad. Tell Bill all ’bout the family.”

Wringing my soaked T-shirt, I sat on the floor, relaxed on my propped elbows, and kicked my feet out. “So, the dad works long hours. He sets off at sunrise in his beaten-up truck and comes home around nine at night. Oh, and he likes to meet with his friend, some brunette, for lunch at the pub.” I tossed a pebble in the air and caught it. “They drink beer together.”

“Is that right?” He sounded a bit sceptical. “How do ye know he meets a friend, huh?”

“I followed them on my bike.” Sprawling onto my back, I tucked my arms behind my head and squinted at the blinding sun. “Kerry stays at home all day, baking cakes and cookies for the kids. Sometimes, she drinks tea with the neighbours, or she might cut the grass and sunbathe to kill time.”

Squirting washing up liquid in his hands, Bill lathered his scalp in foamy suds. “Ye don’t talk to ’em, do ye, lad?”

“No way.” My nose scrunched. “I ain’t stupid, Bill. I got my wits about me, remember?”

“Aye, lad.” He plonked his backside on the ground, hiked his knees and wrapped his arms around his shins. “Although, ye said that last time, didn’t ye? Ye lied. Ye did speak to the kids. How do I know ye ain’t pullin’ another fast one?”

Guilty as charged. “Okay, I spoke to the daughter—”

“Of course, he did.” He huffed out a breath in disappointment. “Why don’t ye listen, lad? If those parents find out about ye, Bill won’t be able to protect ye when child services hunt ye down.”

“Why can’t you be happy for me, Bill?” Impossible anger ignited the acidity in my voice. “Is it so bad? Having friends?” Dusting off my hands, I stomped to my feet and marched back to the cave. “Kayleigh’s really nice, by the way. Thanks for asking—”

“Stand down.” He gripped my shoulder. “Ye know the rules. If ye want to stay out of the system, ye listen to Bill.” My bottom lip wobbled, and his hardened features softened. “Ah, Liam. Why ye so sad? Tell Bill what to do so he can fix it.” Innate stubbornness glued my tongue to the roof of my mouth. “Ye brin’ this on yourself. Why do ye visit these families when ye know it’s gonna hurt ye?”

I rubbed my eyes. “I like to watch them interact.”

Water seeped from Bill’s dreads. “Why?”

“I don’t know.” Rolling a pebble under my trainer, I kicked it to the lake, the soundless invasion creating ripples across the calm surface. “Kayleigh makes sandwiches and packs a picnic basket. We meet at the back of her garden, behind the shed, and eat lunch on a chequered blanket. According to Kay, her mother spotted me once or twice, but she never called the police. If anything, she baked extra cookies for me to share.”

He rubbed the scruff of his jaw. “Ye spoke to her, didn’t ye?”

My head hung in shame. “Yes.”

“Liam,” he scolded.

“I’m sorry, alright? Kerry—”

“Ah.” He thrust his dancing fingers to emphasise the humiliating level of sarcasm. “The mama’s got a name.”

My lips tightened at the corners. “Obviously, she has a name.”

“Aye, but ye shouldn’t know that.” His crooked fingernail pointed to my face. “Should ye, lad?”

“Well, I do. And Kerry’s cool.” My hands fell to my waist. “She even invited us round for tea one-night next week.”

“Are ye tryin’ to give Bill grey hair?” He snatched my jaw. “We can’t go for supper, Liam. I won’t risk it.” A tear fell down my cheek. “Ah, fuck. Don’t cry. Ye know Bill hates it when ye cry like that.”

“I can’t help it.” I bowed my head. “You said, I cannot miss what I never had, yet when I look at them, when I watch Kayleigh and Kerry together, I feel dead inside.” My tongue swept the salty tears from my lips. “Why did she give me up, Bill? Why didn’t she come back for me? What did I do?” A low, husky sob ripped from my throat. “Why didn’t I have a Kerry?”

Suppressing his own tears, Bill’s hand flattened over his mouth.

“She never cared enough, right?” I captured my lower lip between gritted teeth. “I was a mistake.”

“No.” Interlacing our fingers, he bent his knees to put us eye-to-eye. “Ye are not a mistake, lad. Bill wanted ye, remember?” He poked his tongue out to lick his gold tooth. “Bill knows he can’t compete with a mama, but he’s doin’ his best.”

“I know.” I thumbed the moisture from his left cheek. “I’m sorry, Bill. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“Bill wishes he could give ye the answers. He wants to make it right for ye.” Bill went back to work on his dreads. “Now, if ye can get that brain workin’, Bill might be able to visit the local library and use the computer. Who knows? Maybe if he asks the right questions, someone can help him find her.”

I looked around with a certain sense of incertitude. “My mother?”

He waited restlessly.

My heart slowed. “I don’t even know what she looks like.”

“Nothin’?” he prompted, and I shook my head. “Ye got no recollection of her voice? Where ye lived?” When I stared blankly, his cheeks hollowed. “What ’bout the institution?”

“Briar House?” I asked, and a scowl crept onto his features. “Yeah, I mean, I heard people talk from time to time.”

“Ye?” He scratched his brow. “What did they say? Ye never thought to ask questions?”

“Why?” I wore a permanent scowl. “It’s not my job to provide information. That’s on them.”

“Aye,” he agreed as I followed him to the unlit campfire. “Ye know, Bill don’t like repeatin’ himself, lad.”

“I heard them say something about a heroin overdose.” A cold shiver descended the length of my spine. “I guess that’s why she didn’t come back for me, huh?” He emptied his frayed backpack, selected canned beans, and used the serrated knife to cut through the corroded lid. “She chose drugs over her kid.”

Successfully unsealing the can, Bill, stabbing into the beans with a plastic spoon, forced the cold, disgusting tea into my hand. “Eat.”

I parked my ass on the ground. “Fucking bitch.”

“Watch yuh mouth.” He smacked the side of my head, and I winced, kneading the ache he’d inflicted. “Ye don’t gotta like her much, but ye don’t speak like that. She is still yuh mama.”

No, she’s just a forgotten memory. “My mother’s dead to me.”

I hiked through the waist-high field, holding Bill’s leather gloves. The inconsistencies of rumination dawned on me. I had painted a vivid picture of my mother’s immoralities, nearly all of which I fabricated for remote ataraxia.

Valerie’s thatched cottage entered my peripheral. I looked at the parked Bentley as I left the field, wondering If perhaps I had lost my mind. I was here earlier. I walked right past the low, off-white cobbled wall, yet I failed to notice the old-fashioned, neighbourless building.

Dislodging the lump in my throat, I unlocked the decaying, wooden gate and drifted down the footpath, past the concrete garden gnomes, the plastic, multicoloured windmills and then, the rotary line, circling, ever so slowly, in the wind. Impending bad weather threatened to soak the panoply of men’s white shirts. I touched the one emblazoned with Ermenegildo Zegna, felt the soft fabric under my thumb.

Blood whooshed in my ears. I could barely hear my own thoughts. I proceeded ahead and stepped onto the welcome home mat one foot at a time. Rocking back on the heels of my shoes, I adjusted my diamond cufflinks, the chunky, solid gold curb bracelets clanking together on my wrists, and closed my hand around the brass handle. I expected a locked door, but when the hinges groaned, and the cottage’s hallway, flanked in wood and antique-looking furniture, welcomed my uninvited arrival, I entered the property, sliding the deadbolt into place. I inventoried the high ceiling, the light shade, webbed in gossamer, and the staircase, carpeted in oriental threads, leading to the second floor.

I found a spaceless kitchen.

Popping open the button of my suit jacket, I became seated on the wooden chair between the four-seater table and the paint-peeled fridge freezer. One daisy, used for decorative purposes, hung lifelessly from the glass vase. I flicked the bud. Friable petals disintegrated, chalking the table’s flower-patterned placemat.

Leaving the leather gloves on the counter, I uprooted the packaged cigarettes, parked one to the corner of my lips and matched a flame. Drawing in a long drag, I blew out the match, scrutinising the terracotta casserole dish on the stove, the colourful magnets on the fridge and the floral net in the window above the stainless-steel sink.

Exhaling smoke halos, some larger than others, I paid the cupboard—every grain-packed mason jar and utensil holder—an observatory glance.

The discrepancies between the past and the present hurt my head. Puce with rage and frustration, I rubbed the pounding ache from my temples and absconded the kitchen to leave when a glass cabinet showcasing medals and trophies piqued my curiosity. I understood the gravity of those scintillating awards as I moved into the living room. I had to read the engraving on the lacquered, trapezium-shaped base awarded to my brother.

Outstanding Player.

Man of the Match.

Sportsmanship Award.

Vincent Wentworth.

I held the gilded photo frame, and a slight smirk teased my lips. Vincent, in blue and white football gear, stationed on one knee, rested an arm on his teammate’s shoulder, the entire squad surrounding him. In front of him, next to the ribboned trophy, a white and black football. His intense blue eyes, the same eyes of my reflection in the mirror, confirmed his identity. In the picture, he has wispy black hair, similar to his recent style, only slightly longer, thicker, and even though he’s never given the impression that he had a miserable childhood, there is something quite chilling about his emotionless smile.

Valerie had a taste for outmodedness, which, all things considered, is anomalous. Vincent’s a man of riches who can provide in abundance, yet the woman he claimed to love and cherish resides in spartan misfortune. Botanical patterns decorated the walls. A walnut-glossed Edwardian cupboard paraded sculptural artwork, bronze statues and a gramophone record player. Admiring the brass sound horn, I repositioned the needle, rotated the crank handle and stepped back to listen to Karen Carpenter’s contralto voice.

The floorboard creaked behind me.

I placed the half-smoked cigarette in the ashtray and tucked my hands in my pockets.

“What are you doing in my house?” Valerie asked, her voice thick and hitched. “You must leave at once, or I will call the police.”

“For what purpose?” I asked, and whatever useless weapon she held crashed to the ground. The wooden rolling pin trundled to my feet, and I caught it under my shoe. “Have I hurt you?” From the corner of my eye, I see her blurred figure move closer, timidly unhurried, and then she is beside me. “Threatened you?”

Valerie’s frail hand almost touched my arm.

“Who are you?” I have yet to make eye contact. “Who are you to me?”

She stared morosely. “Liam—”

“Warren.” Tempestuously seething, I gripped her delicate wrist and yanked her into my personal space. Her grey, wide-set, tear-brimmed eyes blinked up at me. My fingers twitched. Heart thudding violently against my ribcage, I examined her aged features, her heart-shaped face and freckled cheekbones, the wrinkles on her forehead and above her lips. Her silver roots contrasted the long, plaited black hair that cascaded down her back. “Warren,” I whispered coldly. “Left but never forgotten. Weak until unconquerable. Pathetic until indomitable. Improvised until prosperous. Salvageable until irredeemable.” Angry tears blinded vision. “I am Raymond Warren’s first-born son and heir. I am,” I breathed in her ear, “the unwanted pariah who rose from the ashes of desertion until a gilded cage domed the city I like to call my empire.” Her raw sobs implored me to stand down. “Perhaps I should credit you. Mother.”

Valerie’s eyes were lost for a moment. “How did you find me?”

I felt an unfamiliar twinge in my chest. “Is that question relevant?”

“Yes—no,” she stuttered with equivocation. “I think you should leave.”

My head tilted. “I came here for answers.”

“You will not be satisfied either way.” She inhaled a choppy breath. “Please, for everyone’s sake, leave and forget—” I smacked her with an open-palmed hand, and she pivoted on impact, going down to the ground in feeble clumsiness. Terror misted her eyes. She splayed her fingers across the floor, craning her neck to look at me. “How could you? You know better than to put your hands on a woman.” Her voice was icy and acrimonious. “I thought you…”

“You thought what?”

“Your immoral behaviour only extended to reprobates alike.”

My mouth tipped into a half-smile. “Conjectured such fanciful nonsense from afar, did you?”

Her pallid face was disenchanted.

“Do not look for any redeemable qualities in me.” Sourly bitter bile rose in my throat. “You will be sorely disappointed.”

Grappling the train of her floor-length floral skirt, she stood on trembling legs and, defeatedly sad, stared knowingly at me. “You came here to kill me.”

Yes, I did. I extracted the gold Desert Eagle and smoothed my thumb across the Warren engraving. It holds fewer rounds compared to the Glock 19, but it’s my most treasured firearm. “I thought you’d lie,” I whispered, belatedly forlorn by her detachedness. “I thought you’d deny me.”

Her eyes were still wet from tears. “I have no reason to lie to my son.”

My son, she dared to call me.

I studied the collection of ineffable photo frames on the wall and viewed the timeline of Vincent’s growth. Valerie had captured his smiling journey from infancy to pubescence, the last image indicating his high school prom, and that’s how the story ends unless she hides current photographs.

“If it is any consolation.” She brought her gaze down from the ceiling. “I never stopped loving you—”

“Do not take me for a fool!” Red-hot heat emitted from my body. “If you loved me even half as much as you love Vincent, I’d have slept in a warm bed at night instead of slumming it on the fucking streets. Do not vindicate the despicableness of your actions. You prioritised sex and drugs. You…” Emotional resentment resurfaced. “You let them take me.” Her palms soothed my cheeks, and for a short while, I allowed it. “It’s all I ever wanted. For you to remember…” I turned my back to her. “You replaced me instead.”

“I planned to have you,” she said. “It took many failed attempts, but eventually, I became pregnant. You were long-awaited, Liam. The night the midwife placed you in my arms, I felt complete.

“I had you for two years,” she continued, and I frowned in perplexity. “Two wonderful years. You were exemplary: trying to communicate as early as seven months, crawling at six, walking at nine, causing mischief by ten. I could never take my eyes off you, not even for a second, because you’d be in the kitchen cupboards, emptying everything on the floor, covering yourself in bread flour…” She snivelled. “You had a set of lungs on you. When you cried for milk, the entire neighbourhood awakened.”

I jangled the car keys in my pocket. “Why are you telling me this?”

“I loved your father. We had twelve incurably romantic months together. We got married. We bought a house and…” She robbed me of the ability to speak. “Raymond Warren was a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Everything changed once I became his wife. He controlled every aspect of my life. Work? Prohibited. Friends? Prohibited. I had to stay home while he socialised. I had to endure his line of serial infidelities. Heaven forbid, I demand more respect. He’d beat me black and blue.”

I faced her. “You left me on someone else’s doorstep because Ray failed your marriage.”

“Raymond filed for a divorce the day I gave birth to you.” Crawling into the armchair, she reached for the cigarettes on the side table, balanced one in her mouth and sparked a lighter flame. “He never came back or provided financially. I was left to fend for myself.” Shame and embarrassment tinted her cheeks. “In those dark moments, I did the unspeakable. I neglected my son and turned to drugs. I could not afford to keep a roof over your head, but I scappled for coins to fund my disgusting habit.

“You were ten months old the first time I left you. I rocked you to sleep, laid you in the cot and placed a bottle by your pillow in case you woke up.” Her mouth tremored. “I locked the front door and walked to the nearest bar to scrounge alcohol and ketamine. I met a guy. He could give me what I wanted if I returned the favour.” She wiped the humiliation off her face. “It became a regular occurrence. I would leave my child alone in the house while I sold my body, but I—”

“I am uninterested in your pathetic excuses,” I spat.

“I was an addict, Liam,” she cried as if reliving the heinous memory.

“You were a mother first!” I said angrily. “You left a ten-month-old baby unprotected while you fucking whored yourself to men.”

“As you said, I prioritised drugs.” Her fingers pinched the crucifix chain draped around her neck. “Heroin,” she added. “I became addicted to heroin. I’ll spare you the details. The last time I injected a vein, I almost died. I was hospitalised until rehabilitated.”

I recall someone mentioning a heroin overdose while living in Briar House. “Who found you?”

“A regular spent the evening at our place. He called the emergency services.” Needing to hear the rest, I crouched before her. “When the police discovered you, they immediately called in social services.” Genuine tears submerged her regretful eyes. “I lost you the same night.”

Our expressions were equally melancholic.

“Get clean, they told me. Move into a new house, they advised. Prove your determination to everyone.” She scoffed. “I beat addiction. I turned to God. I got a regular job. I rented a two-bedroom property. I visited the doctor’s office weekly to provide clean samples. I did everything they asked me to do! It was never enough. I lost my rights as a mother, and it almost killed me.” Her throaty sobs came out uncontrollably. “It would be over thirteen years before I saw you again. Vincent,” she whispered, her brows curving inwards. “He was only a child. I had taken him to football training. He wanted to stay out late, just like his friends, but I was too nervous about letting him out of my sight, so I walked them to the chippy and stood in the alley for them to hang out a little while longer.

“There was an old gym,” she said with a tight smile. “It had a poster on the door. Warren vs O’Brien in an upcoming boxing match.” Pinching her lips around the cigarette, she drew in a final drag and snubbed it in the ashtray. “You walked right out of the building with a gym bag slung over your shoulder and shoved straight past me. And before you question my rationality. I didn’t need confirmation to know you were mine. A mother never forgets her son.”

“Yet you said nothing.” Wrenching my arm away from her hold, I stood, smoothed my hands over my head to neaten wayward hair and glared haughtily. “You watched me walk away.”

“Do I look stupid enough to corner my estranged son?” Her face was expectant. “You were happy. Who was I to barge into your life and demand anything?”

“How could you possibly know what I felt?” I bellied anger. “You don’t fucking know me!”

“I knew then what I know now.” She stepped up to me. “You are your father’s son—” My hand instinctively snatched her throat, applying minimal pressure, and her lips slanted into a knowing smile. “Go ahead. Kill me if you must.” Her tears fell to my knuckles. “Do whatever is necessary to take the pain from your eyes. I owe you that much.”

“I wasn’t born this way.” As my fingers tightened around her throat, her eyelashes slowly closed in acceptance. “Whore or not, you were still my mother. I’d have loved you regardless.” Controlling the powerful thirst to asphyxiate, I laid a soft, prolonged kiss on her forehead. “All you had to do was come back for me.”

I released Valerie and did something I never thought possible.

I walked away.

Jerking the front door open, I ambled down the path with my head held high, even though everything inside me threatened to collapse. I thanked whatever deity above for the miserable weather, the violent winds and heavy downpour, for it masked the devastated tears on my cheeks.

“Wait!” Ignoring the furious thunderstorm, Valerie limped barefoot towards me, her clothes saturated within seconds. Stumbling in front of me, she caught her footing and held my scowl. “I won’t apologise for giving up on you.” Our warm breaths misted between us. “You wouldn’t be the man you are today without past suffering. But I will apologise for making you feel unloved because I did love you.” Her dejection cast to the ground where wet mud begrimed her toes. “I loved you as much then as I do now. For what it’s worth, I am so proud of you,” she whispered, handing me an old landscape binder. “Son.”

Brushing sopping hair strands aside, Valerie stifled whimpers and went home. For an unfathomable reason, I watched her close the door before returning to the parked Bentley. Rainwater attacked the car windows. I fired the engine but found no energy to drive.

I glared at the tattered binder.

Unlatching the rusted lock, I turned to the first page and browsed through innumerable baby photos. I lifted the one of me snuggled on my mother’s chest and glanced back to the property in ambivalence.

When Valerie located me in East London all those years ago, she continued to follow my journey someplace else. Newspaper article after newspaper article. Print outs and pencilled notes. Chucking everything onto the passenger seat, I slammed my foot onto the accelerator and sped the fuck out of there.