CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Bleu

I felt a sense of achievement when Dominic laughed or smiled. I have learned so much about him in such a short space of time. He is sociable and loves interaction, face-to-face cuddles and tickle attacks on the tummy. He is also boisterous and adventurous. I had to be conspicuously focussed the second his legs braced for flight. If I left him unattended for a nanosecond, he’d turn the nursery upside down.

He babbled at everything and anything. If I plonked on the floor too quickly or laid down for a short-lived breather, he crawled on top of me and giggled with inconsolable merriment. In his eyes, I was the strangest yet funniest human on the planet.

Dominic is content and soothed by the sound of familiar voices. He’s yet to have any interaction with his father, yet he responded whenever the man entered the room, which, sadly, is not often.

Mr Jones avoided fatherly responsibilities at all costs. Sure, the baby was born into wealth. He lived in a luxurious mansion and wore designer labels. He is the heir to unbelievable fortunes and established superiority. But what is money and power without love?

Dominic will not be a baby forever.

He will be a young man someday.

Will he forgive and forget rejection?

I suppose time will tell.

Dominic threw a stuffed animal on the floor and applauded himself. He looked adorable this evening. His hair was messy from bath time, and the bib absorbed excessive dribble. The poor bugger’s molar broke through two nights ago, but the pain, even with antiseptic gel, has yet to reduce.

“Well done.” I clapped, watching him step over strewn objects like a penguin. “Shall we get dressed now?” Holding up the animal print sleepsuit, I tempted him to come closer. “Come on. You cannot stay in a nappy all night.”

He blew raspberries, babbling to himself.

Palms slapping against the chest of drawers, he knocked the photo frame on the floor. Head lowering between his arms, he stared at the picture of his mother with investigatory closeness.

My heartstrings tugged.

Landing on his butt, he pulled the frame between his outstretched legs and whacked the glass.

“No.” I crawled to his side, taking the frame before he shattered the glass and hurt himself. “Let’s put that somewhere safe.”

“Mum-mum-mum.” His murmured mantra was capable of enchantment. “Babba-mum.”

My heart threatened to burst out of my chest.

Sitting cross-legged in front of him, I exhibited the photo, and his tiny hands latched onto the frame. “Is that your mummy?”

He lost interest in the photo.

Rubbing his tired eyes, he climbed onto my lap.

Lifting him into my arms, I struggled to my feet to place the frame on the shelf. With the sleepsuit thrown over one shoulder, I laid him on the padded changing mat and buttoned him for bed.

Dominic found a burst of energy when I finished cleaning the nursery. Playtime was far from over. He waddled to the sofa, ready to scale the cushions and spy on the guards in the garden. He was fascinated by the men outside. “No,” I said with an authoritative point of the finger.

Paying no heed to the nanny’s disapproval, he stuck a dummy in his mouth, held onto the windowsill and looked fixedly at the armed men below.

“Your father will go nuts if he sees you in the window.” Curling an arm around his waist, I hoisted him into the air, turned off the light and carried him out of the room. “Well, that’s a bit of a stretch. He has to remember that you exist first.”

Inside the kitchen, I secured him in the highchair and prepared formula milk.

If I am lucky, he will go straight to sleep tonight, and I can sneak to the barn to smoke. Cigarettes will suffice. Weed is not an option, and that’s not because the boss forbade drugs. Since I arrived, I have not left the estate, so there have been zero opportunities to visit dealers.

I loved caring for the baby. For the first time in months, I had a healthy routine. I traded busing tables, pouring pints and stacking bookshelves for this tiny human, who had me in the palm of his hand, and I don’t know how it happened or what lucky star glowed above, but life had taken a turn for the better. I never thought I’d say that a few weeks ago. Hell, I’d hit the sack every night, pondering escape plans. I must have been demented. Nobody in their right mind declined luxury living and unlimited funds.

I missed freedom, though.

I’d give anything to see my father, to play him the piano and sing his favourite songs. He mightn’t remember his daughter, but his daughter remembered him, and she made him a promise.

I made a mental note to speak to Mr Jones about leisure time tomorrow. Again.

That’s if he bothers to make an appearance. I’d love to be a fly-on-the-wall to see what the man got up to outside of the estate.

Testing the milk’s temperature on my wrist, I put the bottle on the side to cool down and lingered by the highchair. Dominic fumbled with soft toys. He was not satisfied until each miniature stuffed animal fell overboard.

“What am I going to do with you?” Collecting the plethora of cute cuddliness, I dropped them in the laundry basket for housekeeping. It’s only then I notice the little hippopotamus in his vice-like grip. “Is he your favourite?”

Dominic tugged the hippo’s ears.

Where is the Selfridges tag?

“That looks new.” Steiff emblazoned its cushioned feet. “Where did you get that?”

He whacked the dummy on the highchair’s removable tray.

I almost checked the bottle’s temperature, but indistinct conversations hindered movement.

Alexa Warren appeared in the arched doorway. I envied her allure, her beauty. Her long, lustrous dark hair and glamorous presence evoked memories of when I made time for self-love and self-care. I never pictured myself with chunky spectacles, short hair and shapeless dresses goffered in blossoms.

“Hello,” I said with forced demureness.

“Alice.” Her red-stained lips twitched. “I came to steal the baby.”

“Oh, he is due for…” Bed, I thought, as she unstrapped him from the highchair. “Actually, I was about to feed him.”

Ignoring the other adult in the room, she perched onto the stool, wrapping her arms around him. “Look at you.” Her child-like voice resembled fingernails on a chalkboard. “You look just like your daddy.”

Of course, the baby smiled.

Her childishness earned brownie points.

“You are so handsome.” Her eyes were bright with playfulness. “Yes, you are.”

Dominic approved, his arms and legs kicking out with excitement.

Her outstretched hand demanded the bottle. “I can feed him.”

Tapering down tetchiness, I placed the bottle in her hand. “He prefers to be—”

“Don’t do that.” She looked at me with reproachful eyes. “You might be a professional childminder, but I am family. I am more than capable of looking after my best friend’s son.”

My cheeks scorched with a mixture of humiliation and indignation.

Who is this woman? Yes, I know she is the boss’s friend, and, by all accounts, she is married to some psychopathic criminal, but that does not give her the right to act superior or tyrannise those considered menial. I am still a human being. I deserve more respect.

Alexa fed the baby. “His mother was like a sister to me,” she said, not bothering to look up when she spoke. “We used to be inseparable.”

I kept an eye on the baby.

“My loyalties are with Brad now.” Her thumb stroked the baby’s knuckles as he guzzled milk. “I wish she’d have come to me, though. It never had to end this way.”

I cannot sympathise with someone who left their son without a mother.

Mr Jones, meticulously besuited and overtly arrogant, strode into the kitchen. When he espied Dominic in Alexa’s arms, he bypassed the island and headed for the dining table. “Have you eaten?” he asked, and it took me a moment to realise the question was for me. “I bought sandwiches if you want one.”

Typically, I consumed one of Gilbert’s pre-made meals, but the toasted sandwiches unboxed on the table beat dining alone, that is, if you overlook the lousy company. I can handle superciliousness for entertainment purposes. It’s not as though I had anything better to do.

“I could eat.” I rotated the ring on my finger. “Thank you.”

“Brad, I might steal the baby.” Alexa swivelled on the stool to face the man of the house. “I am in love. He is your double, but I see so much of Chloe in him.”

How my eyes never rolled to the back of my head, I will never know.

Alexa hasn’t spent any quality time with the baby. I am the only person devoted to him. Nobody swings by to visit or offers to take him out for fresh air.

Dominic is an obligatory hindrance to Mr Jones and his deplorable sidekicks.

Honestly, the hypocrisy is laughable.

Brad discarded the suit jacket and became seated. He unwrapped pre-made sandwiches, selected Italian Meat and squirted barbecue sauce on the leafy salad. “Take your pick,” he said as I slid onto the chair. “Not the ham and cheese.”

I reached for the tandoori chicken.

Alexa recapped the empty bottle, helped the baby shift wind, then joined the table. “He is one helluva chunk,” she joked, not that I found her comment remotely funny. “I think he’s fallen asleep.”

When Brad never budged, I set the once-bitten sandwich on the napkin and glanced at the baby’s face. He was out like a lightbulb, his rosy cheek resting on her shoulder, his arms and legs, draped idly at his sides.

Alexa kept one hand on the baby’s back whilst the other hand wrestled with the wrapped baguette labelled Cheesy Ham. That’s why I had to settle for tandoori chicken. Heaven forbid, I stole her majesty’s food.

Brad is troubled by Alexa’s struggle. He removed the wrapper, halved the baguette and placed it onto her upward facing palm. “Do you want Alice to hold him so that you can eat?”

Right, because I am not busy eating, either.

“He’s fine.” Alexa conveyed morsels of toasted bread into her mouth. “Alice, he smells lovely. What products do you use when bathing him?”

I did not buy her friendliness. “Oh, I use the Butterfly skincare range.” Alexa purchased the products, so clarification was unnecessary. “Speaking of baths. Mr Jones, is there a particular reason for adjusting the water metres? Only, it would be more convenient to run the bath without having to make trips up and down the stairs.”

It was extremely quiet. You could hear a pin drop.

Alexa looked discombobulated.

Brad, however, looked furious.

“Never mind,” I stuttered over a mouthful of food. “It’s no big deal.”

“Quite frankly, it is none of your business.” Having lost his appetite, he thrust the food aside and went to the kitchen. “I pay her to take care of my son, not ask questions.”

His devoted friend remained voiceless.

It is evident that she perceived the illogicalness of what’s expected of me, but she would not dispute the matter in front of an audience.

“I apologise for questioning your authority.” Yes, I was sarcastic, but it is warranted. “But I must argue the matter. The baby is entitled to warm baths at any time of day. Why must water be restricted? Alexa, do you see where I am coming from?”

Thanking Brad for bottled water, she sipped to quench her thirst. “My opinion is not relevant. You are Brad’s employee, not mine.

I laughed with an air of bitterness. “So much for women empowerment, huh?”

“This is not a game.” Her tone was quiet but serious. “I am not your friend, Alice. You made that quite clear when I entered the kitchen.”

And there you have it. Alexa Warren is fake. Her kindness is an act.

Unlike the male lapdogs in her life, I am not in peril of compulsion. I know a bitch when I see one. Unfortunately for her, I have the highest degree of bitchiness. I can tear down her kingdom with a smile on my face, and she won’t even see it coming.

“I’m sorry,” I said with feigned sheepishness. “I didn’t mean to put you in an uncomfortable position.”

“Did I miss all the fun?”

His voice bristled the hair on the back of my beck.

I glanced at the door in a state of nerves.

I’d recognise those cold blue eyes anywhere.

Vincent Warren.

“I don’t believe we have met.” He strode to the table with sartorial elegance. “Vincent,” he introduced himself, and I smiled to hide my innermost anxieties. “You must be the nanny.”

I am also someone that had unfinished business with this man.

His prolonged stare held mine for an unbreathable amount of time before his attention turned to the other woman. “Angel.” His hand touched her shoulder with tender fingertips. “Are we practising?”

Alexa kissed the baby’s cheek. “Isn’t he adorable?”

Vincent hummed.

I remembered their phone conversation when hiding in the cupboard at Club 11 and felt a wave of destructible power. I am privy to their secret. I wonder if Brad knew the extent of their closeness. I bet he’d have something to say on the matter because that hushed chat, in my opinion, overstepped far too many boundaries. I mean, why is the man’s hand still on her shoulder? And why is Brad completely clueless? The room is filled with self-obsessed people who are too preoccupied with themselves to notice the enormous elephant in the midst of impending carnage.

Vincent regarded me. “Do you like it here?”

I nodded.

“Jones is temperamental,” he said, and my boss scoffed. “Are you insusceptible to his capriciousness?”

Why does this feel like an interrogation?

Vincent’s head tilted in bemusement. “It is common courtesy to speak when addressed.”

I am not here to impress anyone.

“Why is she so pauciloquent?” He spoke about me whilst glaring at me. “Is she not schooled in basic etiquette?”

Yes, I lacked loquaciousness. I hate people, specifically pompous men whose only motive is to discern what makes someone tick, so withdrawn, in his proximity, I shall remain.

“Where are your manners, Jones?” Vincent’s body eased into the chair next to his Angel. “I would receive better service at Wetherspoon.”

“I am not your bastard servant.” Brad hunted the kitchen cupboards. “I will pour Jameson if you ask politely. That’s if I find it.”

I must excuse myself from the table.

Brad was pulling his hair out. “Alice, have you rearranged the cupboards?”

I did. I was bored and even labelled the shelves for the chef. “It’s in the wine rack.”

Vincent is appalled by the minor mishap. “You cannot use a wine-rack to systemise bottles of whiskey. Wine is to be stored horizontally to dampen the cork.” He revelled in the success of demeaning others. “Whiskey, however, should be stored upright in a cool, dark location to protect the cork.”

I had to bite my tongue to thwart truculence. If I weren’t an imposter who stole cash from under his very nose or secured a nanny position at the estate, I’d give him a run for his money. I will not expose myself, though. I cannot argue with the man responsible for the bounty on my head.

I had to stay under the radar.

First impressions are lifelong.

This man did not like me.

The feeling is mutual.

Vincent looked right through me. “Are you uneducated?”

I bite into the sandwich. “Apparently.”

Alexa laughed once at the awkwardness.

“What is this?” Brad placed numerous bottles of whiskey on the kitchen island. “Where are the Jameson bottles?”

I cannot endure another five minutes with these entitled humans.

“What the fuck is going on?” My boss glared at the expensive bottles like they were offensive. “These belong at the club.”

Alexa patted the baby’s back. “I thought you liked Macallan.”

“I do like Macallan.” His hands went to his hips. “But that does not explain why they are here. I never ordered them.”

A normal person would calm down and speak to a staff member in the morning. Brad has how many employees? Everyone has one job, and that’s to make his life easier. If I had to guess, Edith, the manager of household affairs, purchased the bottles alongside groceries.

Melodrama is unwarranted.

Brad’s frustration landed on my shoulders. “Are you responsible?”

All eyes turned to me.

Right, it was my fault.

“Why would I be responsible? I don’t even like whiskey.” I did unbox the delivery last week, though. “Listen, I found them on the doorstep and tried to be helpful. I won’t make that mistake again.”

Brad massaged his temples. “You found them outside?”

No, I made up the entire story to amuse myself. “Yes, I found them outside.”

“Is this a manic episode?” Vincent rubbed an apple on the lapel of his suit jacket. “I need to be intoxicated to deal with his delirious state of mind.”

“It’s not hysteria.” Brad is on a mission. “I never ordered whiskey to be delivered to the estate, which brings us back to my original question: why are they here?”

Alexa walked to the kitchen island.

And I watched as Vincent’s eyes lowered to her legs. It was not sleazy nor perverted. It was intense longing. He was acutely aware and mesmerised by her every movement.

Well, if I was unsure before, I am pretty damn confident now.

This man is in love with his sister-in-law.

I put that useful information in my backpack for a rainy day.

“Are they personalised?” She turned one of the bottles to read the label. “What’s with the gold letters?”

“How the fuck should I know?” Brad stepped away from Alexa—and the baby. “Alice, take Dominic to bed.”

I was happy to leave.

Carrying rubbish to the kitchen, I binned half-eaten food and carefully lifted the baby into my arms. “Goodnight.”

Alexa was the only person to respond.

I stepped into the unlit hallway and hesitated.

Let’s see what they have to say about me.

Vincent spoke first. “I am not fond.”

“You dislike everyone,” Alexa replied.

“That is not true,” he said. “I like you, and I tolerate Jones.”

“Well, I cannot stand your ugly mug.” My boss’s footsteps continued to pace. “You are here because of Warren, so don’t get too comfortable.”

“Where are the cookies?” Alexa asked. “I have a sweet tooth.”

And that’s my cue to leave.

“About the painting.”

I paused, my heart skipping a beat.

“Did you recheck the surveillance?”

The question was from Brad.

“I am blameworthy for Liam’s painting,” Vincent said, and the room became eerily silent. “It is depressing, so I discarded it. I suppose the thief found it in the skip and sold it for riches.”

“Vincent” Alexa’s voice was far from calm. “You had no right. That painting belongs to my husband.”

“My brother’s childhood will not be glorified.” He was upset. “How can you expect me to sit in the office all day and stare at his past misfortunes?”

“You have misinterpreted the story,” she argued.

“I see a depressed little boy, and it breaks my fucking heart.”

“And Liam sees a happy little boy who fell in love with a homeless man. Bill is the guitarist who welcomed Liam into his arms when everyone else turned their back on him. Every stroke of the brush is meaningful. Why else do you think he sat with an artist and told his story? He chose narrative art for a reason.”

A string of silence lengthened.

Vincent was unconvinced. “He looked sad.”

“Bill is the happiest part of his childhood,” she stressed. “We are not supposed to understand. That was their moment. It was not ours. Liam loves the painting. He will look for it when he comes home.”

I doubt her husband will ever see beyond prison walls.

“Luckily for you, I plan to hang the painting in Liam’s office at the casino.” Alexa sounded calmer. “In the future, if it concerns Liam, I expect you to discuss the matter with me before you act impulsively.”

Chewing my thumbnail, I put my back to the wall.

“Back to our thief,” Brad said. “Nate is en-route to do a background check on Bleu.”

My world tipped on its axis.

How do they know my name?

“You needn’t worry,” Vincent said. “I came prepared.”

A spell of dizziness developed, and sickness rioted in the depths of my stomach.

“I called Donny,” Vincent continued. “He checked the database and found her file. I have all the information saved on my phone.”

All-consuming dread festered as I feared my father’s safety.

“Anything interesting?” Alexa questioned. “An address, perhaps.”

“Better.” I imagined Vincent’s cruel smirk. “How do you lure out snakes? You target their loved ones.”

I bite my tongue to suppress whimpers.

Blood mixed with acidic bile flooded my mouth.

“Give me that.” Brad took something from Vincent. “This is fucking blissful. Get your coat on, Vincy Boy. It’s time to pay Daddy Murphy a visit.”

I hurried upstairs to settle Dominic in the crib. Connecting the transmitters with shaky hands, I left one by the baby and tucked the other one in my pocket.

Once inside the safety of my bedroom, I locked the bedroom door, then the bathroom door, crouched next to the bath and fumbled with my phone.

Dialling Gill’s number, I put the phone to my ear.

It went straight to voicemail.

Respiring a quivered breath, I dialled the care home’s landline and waited for the receptionist to answer. “Hello—”

“I need to speak to Mrs Gill,” I said in a low, terrified voice. “It is urgent. Do not fob me off. My father’s life depends on it.”

“Bleu?” the receptionist asked. “Are you okay? You haven’t visited in a while, and everyone is worried about you.”

“Forget about me,” I hissed, the pain in my chest intensifying. “I need you to put Gill on the phone. Do it now. This cannot wait until the morning.”

“I’m sorry, Bleu. Mrs Gill is not in the office right now. Do you want to leave a message?”

I was running out of options. “Is the doctor on shift?”

“Which doctor?”

“Elijah Smith.”

“One moment.” Opus number one temporarily played in my ear. “Yes, Mr Smith is in his office. Hold the line, and I will transfer the call.”

Expecting someone to barge in, I stared at the bathroom door.

“Miss Murphy.” Elijah came onto the phone. “What can I do for you?”

“I know this sounds crazy,” I whispered, desperate for his cooperation. “I know it is wrong of me to expect anything from you.”

His interest piqued. “Are you in danger? Our nurses made a note of your absence.”

My father’s safety was more important. “Are you familiar with the name Liam Warren?”

“Why?” He was cautious. “What have you done?”

“Let’s just say I got on the wrong side of his allies.” My forehead rested on the sink. “Elijah, I had to hide from them. They will kill me.”

He spat out a curse. “Where are you?”

“My father,” I croaked, unable to formulate words. “They are coming for him. Please, I need you to get him to safety.”

“Who is coming?” He was anxious. “Warren is in prison.”

“His brother,” I explained, and I heard a door swing open in the background. “Vincent will kill him, Elijah. These men are dangerous.”

“I can guard the entrance.”

“No, you have to get him out of there. You are nothing but a pebble in Vincent’s shoe. He will stamp on you to get what he wants.” An innocent man will not die whilst trying to be heroic. “Trust me. You cannot reason with crazy. Take my dad out of the building and hide him somewhere safe. I beg you.”

“Shit,” he muttered. “How can I sneak him out? Everyone will notice. I will get caught.”

“You must turn off the surveillance.” I know the men will demand footage once they find my father’s empty bed. “Be stealth, Elijah. They won’t leave a stone unturned. Put my father in a wheelchair and take him to the underground car park. If you can drive him to your place, I will pretend to be unwell tomorrow and visit. I can explain everything then. But for now, I really, really need you to trust me.”

“Okay,” he agreed, and tears broke through the damn and rolled down my cheeks. “Bleu, I don’t know how you got tangled up in Warren’s affairs, but I will definitely need those answers.”

He ended the call.

If there is a God, I hope he listened to my prayer.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Brad

Vincent stalked beneath fluorescent lights, the soles of his leather shoes squeaking along the pure white tiled floor. In his world, time is money, so the slack-jawed receptionist received no explanation. He omitted friendly introductions, followed directional signs and paused by the elevator. Two stainless steel doors chimed and opened whilst his finger was still on the call button. A short, curvesome brunette, donning a burgundy tunic, name tag, lanyard and ballerina flats, stood there, flat-lipped and suspicious.

We stepped aside in unison for her to mosey along.

Her head angled to the right.

Perhaps encroachment will not be as easy as I thought.

Vincent looked decidedly miffed. He resolved to ride the elevator, with or without company.

“You cannot be here.” Her fingers snatched the sleeve of his black, single-breasted overcoat, and he sighed, his frown carrying the weight of wearisomeness. “You missed visiting hours.”

“Better late than never.” His cold glare fell to his captured sleeve. “You will remove your hand at once.”

“If you wish to visit family, friends or loved ones, come back at an appropriate time. I will not allow you to go upstairs and disrupt residents.” She let go of his arm. “Now, take yourself to the exit. I am sure your legs can manage the short walk. Just follow the signs if you can read.”

He was scandalised by her curtness. “You dare to patronise. I will not dignify presumed illiterateness with a response, nor will I retrace steps. Rightly or wrongly, I am taking the elevator upstairs, and you will not stop me. In fact, you can join us.” Rather than part ways as unlikely friends, he dragged the yelling woman into the elevator, waited for me to enter, then sealed the doors. “And since you were so contemptuously unwelcoming, I demand a private visit as well.”

I laughed. Christ, I couldn’t help it.

Her mouth formed a circle. “I beg your pardon.”

“You heard correctly.”

“Oh, you arrogant little shit.”

“Little shit.” His rubicund countenance contorted with disgust. “How will I ever recover from such offensiveness? You’ll need to do better than that, kitten.”

She punched the emergency button, and the elevator jarred to a shrieking halt, leaving my airborne heart somewhere in the four cardinal directions.

My hands struck the steel panels before I did something acrobatically stupid like head-butt the goddamn floor. “Easy.” I steadied myself. “I’ll blow a gasket if something happens to this beautiful face of mine.”

“Please,” she mocked. “You are no runway model.”

I will slap the bitch. “I’m the best thing since sliced bread.”

Her eyes rolled. “You need to amend that hyperbolic statement.”

“It was a joke.” Although, I do believe I am pretty fucking great. “Take the knickers out of your arse.”

The uppity woman folded her arms. “I left pesky underwear in the bedroom.”

I don’t know why she felt the need to tell me that.

Vincent gave her a pointed look. “Restart the elevator.” A dark shadow fell over his eyes. “Final warning.”

I intervened before he launched a scathing attack. “Ignore the uncivilised savage. He doesn’t leave the cave often, so he’s a little uptight and that malarkey.”

He propped a foot against the wall. “Uptight is an understatement.”

“Aren’t you the proud owner of a sex club? You need to roll in the hay or flog some arse cheeks, whichever you prefer, or feel is most appropriate.” Tapping his back, I slipped in front of him, blocking him from the woman’s direct line of vision, and flipped the personality switch. “Brad Jones.”

I located her name tag.

Winifred.

Christ, I thought Mildred was bad, but Wini takes the absolute piss.

Nonetheless, I smiled for the camera, the one in the corner, recording the entire encounter. “Winifred.” Her name did not belong on my tongue. “I like it. It’s very ‘Golden Twenties.’”

“I hate it,” she said with a resigned sigh. “I think my mother was high as a kite when she waltzed into the registry office.”

My lips broke into a slow smirk. “There is nothing wrong with a bit of uniqueness.”

Wini’s cheeks pinkened. “I suppose it is unique in today’s world.” Her stare revisited the other man in the lift, and then she hit the start button. The elevator shuddered back to life. “You do realise that I must contact security once we reach the top floor.”

“Ah, don’t do that,” I rasped, and her chin jutted in defiance. “We’re just a couple of guys looking to say goodbye to their uncle. My cousin called and said he was not doing so great, so we headed straight over. I mean, I’d hate for something bad to happen before we had the chance to talk.” I kneaded my chest with the heel of my hand as if to ease an unbearable ache. “Life is short, right?”

“Yes.” Her shoulders drooped. “Well, you must really care about him to rush here. He’s one lucky guy. Most of our residents go months, sometimes years, without visitors. It’s heart-breaking.”

Vincent hummed to smother amusement.

Curling hair behind her ear, she gnawed her bottom lip. “Who is your cousin?”

“Bleu Murphy,” I said, and her eyes glittered in recognition. “She is extremely worried about him.”

“I bet.” She touched her chest, pitying the old geezer and his thieving daughter. “Mr Murphy’s condition has deteriorated drastically in the last few weeks. His decline was so sudden.”

The elevator doors chimed open.

Vincent bolted forward.

“Hey!” She charged down the hallway. “I meant what I said!”

My arm enveloped her waist. It was a quick move to obviate the need for security or controversy. Tussling with law-abiding citizens is not part of tonight’s assignment.

“Oh.” She drew in a sharp intake of breath when her back met my chest. “What are you doing?”

Isn’t it obvious?

Her breath shuddered. “I barely even know you.”

Barely is not the word I’d use.

We are strangers.

“Don’t be a jobsworth,” I whispered in her ear, the lips to her lobe sprouting goosebumps on her arms. “It’s not attractive.” Peering over her head, I watched Vincent sneak past the night staff, slink into a room and shut the door. “You don’t get paid enough to handle villains.”

Honestly, I thought she’d fight or scream when I hauled her into an empty room. No, this mysterious creature turned in my arms, her back to the closed door, and stared with wild eyes of anticipation. Her breaths came out in small, hot bursts and her fingers, albeit twitchy, clung to my forearms.

Winifred licked her dry lips. “What are we doing?”

I am creating a diversion, not that she’s noticed. Or perhaps she is cognisant but unfazed. Now that we are alone in the dark, her dispute with Vincent is an afterthought.

“You might want to stop,” I said as her lower body rocked against my cotton-clad cock. “He is responsive.”

“I don’t know what’s come over me.” Her warm breath tickled my throat. “I’m not usually like this.”

It’s every woman’s go-to phrase to either preserve their reputation or pardon their ineptitude. Maybe it’s factually accurate. In any case, I am not one to judge tantalised females.

Her fingers tangled in my hair. “I could lose my job.”

Vincent better hurry up and nail the bastard. In a few hours, I’ll be more than happy to unleash pent-up frustration, that’s if Cherry is willing but now is neither the time nor the place. “Slow down,” I half-joked, capturing her wandering hands. “I don’t have a Johnny.”

“No need.” Unbuttoning the tunic, she revealed a very generous cleavage clad in pale pink lace. “I am clean.”

And I’m a fucking virgin.

Her tongue teased my ear, and I shivered, taking her backside into my palms. “Christ,” I groaned, the feel of her lips on my throat, kicking the heartbeat up a notch. “I am weak for naughty women.”

With heavy-lidded eyes, I looked down.

Her eyes were green but unfamiliar.

Her skin was tanned, not olive-complexioned.

Her name is Winifred.

Where is my head at?

“Jones?” Vincent’s deep voice, hoarse with vexation, echoed in the hallway. His fist rapped the door. “Are you in there?”

His nearness brought her back to reality. With a ruddy complexion and a weak smile, she redid the buttons of her tunic, tidied her hair, her flushed appearance, then stepped aside for me to leave.

Smoothing two hands over my head, I fixed tousled hair. “You might want to delete the surveillance footage.”

“What?” Her eyes darted to the rotating camera in the corner of the room. “Ah, shit.”

I flung open the door.

Vincent’s brow quirked knowingly.

“Problem?” I made my way to the elevator. “Be less narrow-minded, Vincy boy.”

“Who is judging?” His head shook slowly. “To each their own.”

“I never slept with her. I distracted her for you to handle Murphy. So, how did it go? Did he divulge? Did you refrain from killing him?”

“About that.” A flash drive appeared. “I downloaded tonight’s surveillance footage.”

He had no reason to download surveillance unless the visit did not go according to plan. “You have got to be shitting me.” I entered the elevator. “What could have possibly gone wrong?”

“Empty bed.” He stuffed the flash drive in his trouser pocket. “I spoke to the nurse. Mr Murphy is bed-bound most days and cannot walk without assistance. Somebody moved him.”

I hate it when people prevaricate. “So, is he on another floor? Did someone take him for a late-night stroll? Get to the point.”

“I don’t have the answer. He is not here. That is all I know. It is most definitely an unusual circumstance because the night staff are panic-stricken. They called the police to file a medium risk case, which is rather dramatic. Are immobilised dementia patients a serious risk to themselves or the public? I think not.”

I had a thought. “Do they have a rough idea of when he disappeared?”

“A care worker checked on him three hours ago. He was asleep for the night.” He exited the lift first. “This is odd, isn’t it?”

“She’d recognise us. Bleu, I mean.” The night air hit the back of my throat upon exiting the building. “Perhaps she was here when we arrived…This is your fault.”

He looked taken aback. “How is it my fault?”

“You affronted Wini, so she trapped us in the elevator. Bleu saw us,” I spoke hypothetically. “She got to her father before we did.”

He gave the care home a speculative glance. “I counted four members of staff in the foyer. I highly doubt that she was one of them.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“She’d be afraid. The women were curious by our arrival but not unnerved. Besides, you’d have recognised her.”

No, I only caught the side of her profile before she smashed concrete in my face. The night I chased her to the Tower Bridge, she wore a hoodie, shielding her face, and if you take Club 11′s surveillance footage into account, she kept her head down the entire time.

This woman is an enigma.

“You cannot pinpoint an average white woman. I need a clearer visual.” Unlocking the parked Bentley, I collapsed behind the steering wheel. “Did Donny send anything else? A picture, perhaps, or a home address.”

“An address to a shared house in Croydon. No pictures, though.” He tucked the phone away. “Shall we proceed?”

***

Bleu Murphy’s former roommates lived in utter squalor. I declined coffee (no, to stained mugs), snacks (no, to food past the expiration date), and a seat at the table because the begrimed wooden chair was not worthy of my backside. I’d sue for damages if any of that sticky substance ruined the trousers

What is that malodorous smell? It’s rancid. And familiar.

Christ, it’s like walking into my childhood home: untidy, unclean, unventilated, unsatisfactory.

My mother was never the most domesticated housewife, but once my father bounced, household duties and chores took flight with his suitcase. She never opened the windows, aired the rooms, vacuumed or mopped, the front and back garden, unkempt and overgrown. Rubbish became long-standing ornaments throughout (I had to dodge empty liquor bottles on the floor). Drawn curtains. Mouldy walls. Uncarpeted stairs. Stained ceilings. Filthy bathroom.

Home was Hell, much like this place.

“You should hire a cleaning company,” I suggested, and the three housemates, one male and two females, whatever their bastard names, exchanged irked glances. “There are mouse droppings on the counter next to the plate of half-eaten pizza, like, what the fuck?”

Vincent smiled. He actually smiled.

Shuddering from head to toe, I moved to the middle of the room, where it was safe, and got momentarily distracted by the coving’s strip of LED lights. “We have taken enough of your time.” Plus, I had to get out of here before the rodents arrived. “You kicked Bleu out due to unfriendliness, then what happened?”

“Unfriendly is putting it lightly,” the shapely woman said. “Bleu is not a team player. She is rude and obnoxious and spiteful.” Her libs wobbled, and the two roomies flanked her sympathetically. “Poor Eugene. She took advantage of him. He is still upset.”

I looked at the guy. “Eugene?”

“Jeffery,” he corrected. “Eugene is due back any minute, though.”

Vincent is bored. “Do you have another address?”

“No,” the short-haired blonde said. “It’s almost as if she vanished into the night. She had three jobs before she left this place. I have swung by the library, the restaurant and the bar to return her keepsakes, but she’s never there. Arabella, the librarian, reckons she fled the country. They don’t like each other, by the way. Bleu slept with her boyfriend. We think she is a sex addict.”

What a bunch of ignorant gossipmongers.

“As for the other two bosses? They thought I’d lost my marbles.” She nursed a mug of tea. “Apparently, they’d never hired anyone named Bleu. Weird, right?”

I studied the old shoebox on the table. “Can I take that?”

“Sure.” The guy handed over Bleu’s keepsakes. “We found it under her bed.”

I’ll look inside later.

“What’s going on?”

Eugene, I believe, stood by the kitchen door, bespectacled, bedraggled and undeniably concerned. He eyed everyone in the room with silent nervousness.

“Eugene, I assume.” Vincent’s hands stayed in his pockets. “I want Bleu’s whereabouts.”

“Bleu?” He sought out the roommates. “Why? Is everything okay?”

Jeffery shrugged. “Allegedly, she owes him money.”

“‘Allegedly’ is an indication that I lack proof, which I do not.” Vincent’s punctuated words betrayed his cool, collectedness. “I have video and photographic evidence of the woman in question entering my office and helping herself to my money. Someone will suffer the consequences. How unfortunate if it were to be one of you?”

Eugene cupped his mouth. “How much does she owe you?”

“Eugene,” the voluptuous woman berated. “It is not your debt to settle. Hasn’t she taken enough?”

“Right,” the blonde agreed. “She stole from him, too. Emptied his savings jar unapologetically.”

I do not care.

“Forty-ish.” Vincent’s eyes toured the room with observable revulsion. “If you include interest.”

Eugene ran a hand over his pale face. “Forty-ish? What, like, forty quid?” He unzipped his wallet. “Is that it?”

“That’s cute.” I don’t know what’s worse, the sarcasm or the very itchy skin. “Forty grand. And why am I tearing? Is it fleas or bedbugs?”

My body was on fire. If there were bugs in this place, they thought I was a walking buffet.

“Neither.” Jeffery snickered the tension away. “You have a weird sense of humour.”

“No, I am allergic to insalubrious conditions,” I snapped, unable to contain dissatisfaction. “Vincent, I need to bounce.”

“I apologise on Bleu’s behalf,” Eugene spoke to Vincent directly. “We are not liable, but If I had the money, I’d settle the debt. I truly hope she does the right thing.”

Vincent inhaled through his nose, then respired to calm himself. “Give me something.”

Eugene pondered on how to appease. “You could try her father’s care home or speak with one of her employers…” His eyes glazed over. “I doubt this will help, but she is a phenomenal singer. She used to do open mic nights at the City Academy. Music is in her blood. She won’t be able to resist forever.”

I shared an unvoiced conversation with Vincent.

Eugene, that was very helpful, indeed.

***

Alexa sipped orange juice in the kitchen. Her finger tapped a sheet of paper on the marble island: Bosqui’s address. His daughter finally cracked and sang like a canary. I texted the location to Nate and asked for updates on Blaire. Surely, he’s got her in her Audi by now.

“Go ahead. Gloat.” Opening the fridge, I extracted one of the chef’s pre-made meals and banged it in the microwave. “Tell me how you did it.”

“Gia is a mother.” Alexa texted someone on her phone. “I threatened targets on her kids’ backs.”

I grabbed a fork. “Do you want me to drop you home?”

“No, Alfie is outside.” She slid down from the stool. “Brad, I think we should talk.”

Tapping the fork against my palm, I put my back to the counter. “About what?”

“Alice is exhausted.” She pulled on the faux fur coat. “Has she had any time off?”

If the nanny leaves the estate, I have to step in and take care of Dominic. “Not yet.”

“Tell me to mind my own business, but I think she is entitled to leisure time. At least one day a week to venture out of the estate and destress. Plus, it’s high time you acknowledged your son.”

That’s right. Go straight for the jugular, Alexa.

“He needs you.” Her hands clutched my shoulders. “You devote all efforts to the syndicate. Liam would be so proud. But, where you are concerned, he’d accept less. He’d want you to bond with your son, and don’t try and tell me otherwise. He was abandoned. He was like our Dominic, so I know he’d understand.”

My head hung in shame. “I don’t feel anything.”

“That’s okay,” she whispered to be sure none of the night guards overheard our conversation. “It will come, Brad. I promise. Just give him a chance.” Threading our fingers, she placed our hands on her stomach. “You are an amazing uncle to this little one, and he’s not even here yet. If you can do it for Liam’s son, you can do it for yours.”

My thumb and forefinger toyed with the material of her coat.

“I have to go and check on Logan. I caught him in bed with a girl the other night. And before you ask, I don’t know if they slept together.” Her grimace humoured me. “He said they’d fooled around. Shit, I wish I could unsee it. Do you think he lied to save face? They went all the way, didn’t they?”

Yes, I believe so. “Logan promised to be safe,” I reminded her. “Alexa, he is a good kid. You won’t have any problems. I get that you want to protect him, but he’s entitled to privacy. He’s not about to sit down with you and admit to having sex. One, at that age, adults make you feel as though young love and sex is a sin. Two, he’s probably embarrassed. Take my advice. Buy the boy some condoms and leave them in his drawer.” I pointed at her face. “That’s not permission to tally and snoop. It’s precautionary measures only.”

“Fine. You’re right. I will take your advice on board.” She gave me a quick hug. “I will text you in the morning.”

Next assignment: fodder, shower, bed.

***

Dominic slept peacefully on the side, the cotton blanket snaking between his legs. He’d lost the pacifier, but his small, pouty lips made squelching noises to satisfy sucking instincts.

I tucked the Steiff penguin under his arm next to the Hippo. My fingers hesitated by his rosy cheek. Gingerly, I palmed the side of his head, feeling his soft, blond curls under my fingertips.

Alexa is right. He is chubby. Still, he looked far too small for the cot.

I kissed the pad of my thumb and touched his chin. “I will probably fail, time and time again, but I promise to do better. I won’t be like them,” I said quietly. “No, I refuse to be like them, so don’t give up on me.”

With a defeated sigh, I went to the master bedroom, undressed, then showered and scrubbed my skin raw to eliminate the possibilities of blood-sucking insects.

I collapsed on the bed as naked as the day I was born ten minutes later. Christ, I star-fished the motherfucker.

Punching the pillow, plumping up feathers, I relaxed on my stomach, ready to switch off, when the phone screen brightened on the bedside table. “No,” I mumbled to myself. “I am out.”

The phone vibrated.

I had the urge to lunge it out of the window.

Aimlessly reaching for the phone, I rolled onto my back and stared at the notification.

Emma: What did you do?

My heart galloped.

Clicking onto the app, I reread the question and then responded.

Me: This is unexpected.

Message read.

She was waiting for me to reply.

Emma: What’s unexpected?

Me: Your message.

Me: I thought you disowned me.

Emma: I work at the same cafe, live in the same flat. You are never around, though. I guess you swindled out of community service after our parting of the ways, huh?

Me: What do you want me to say?

Emma: Nothing.

Me: Then, why did you text?

Emma: You put money in Carter’s jar.

My brows fused.

Me: Okay?

Emma: So, it was you.

Me: It’s no big deal.

Emma: It is a big deal. My son is beside himself. How do I tell him that the man responsible for his new model car will not be around to receive gratitude?

Emma: He wants to thank the person who helped.

Emma: Can you see the issue? You cannot play with a child’s emotions. It will confuse him.

Me: Confuse him?

Emma: Do the maths.

Emma: What’s the one thing in the world he wants but can’t have?

Me: A Lamborghini?

Emma: I am serious!

Me: I don’t know, Emma.

Emma: A father. He wants a father, big guy.

I never thought of it like that.

Emma: He is already overthinking it.

Emma: Wyatt came over last night, so he must have put it there. Why would he do that, mum? Oh, then he interrogated me before bed, asking if I liked Wyatt. Suppose he should thank Wyatt for the money. Or is it a secret? Maybe Wyatt will take us to the movies.

Emma: And that’s not even half of it.

Turning on the lamp, I face-timed her.

She ignored it.

Me: Just accept.

Emma: Why?

Me: I want to speak to you.

I tried again.

Her face appeared on the screen. I knew she was in bed because I recognised the tapestries on the wall above her head. “Hey,” I said, and she smiled tentatively. “Did I ever tell you that I fuck shit up? Even when I try to do the right thing, I manage to get it all wrong.”

Emma’s eyes softened. “Listen,” she said, and her soft, feminine voice raised the hair on my arms. “I came across as ungrateful. I am grateful. Carter is over the moon, so I cannot thank you enough. I just wish you’d have spoken to me first. He’s impressionable right now…”

Nodding, I licked the dryness at the roof of my mouth. “Maybe Ben helped him to save.”

“Yeah,” she agreed. “It’s better than Wyatt. I do not want Carter to get the wrong idea.”

“I never gave him the money with expectations. My father used to buy toy cars. I loved them. I would sit on the porch and play for hours.” Raking hair behind my ears, I adjusted the chain around my neck. “I suppose I felt nostalgic.”

Her eyes were strikingly green.

Her olive complexion glowed.

“Forgive me?” I teased, and her lips pouted. “You look good.”

Emma’s face heated. “You look tired.”

“I am.” I had time for her, though. “So, I haven’t missed you or the shit-tasting coffee. Not even a little bit.”

“Well, I haven’t missed the annoyingly entitled garbage collector, either.” She chewed the corner of her lip. “That’s a lie. I have kinda missed you.”

“Likewise,” I said throatily, the heart beneath my rib cage beating double time. “It’s frustrating.”

Her face scrunched up. “What’s frustrating?”

“You. Me. Us. I know there is something between us, and I want you in ways I daren’t speak of, but I don’t want to hurt you.”

She sat up in bed, the blanket bunching at her waist. “Sexually?”

“Physically,” I said, the vivid flashbacks of Tiffany’s dead body, the blood, the screaming, the pain in Brian’s eyes, the sadness in his voice, playing on repeat. “If I lost it, for whatever reason, and turned on you the way I did with Tiff, I will never forgive myself.”

“What triggers you, big guy?” Her voice was subdued. “You can talk to me as a friend if nothing else.”

I have many triggers. It’s a good year if I don’t succumb to them. “Betrayal, certain smells, the overwhelming feeling of suffocation or the acute fear of drowning. Unwanted…” When I met her gaze, she held eye contact. “Why are you so easy to talk to?”

“I’m a good listener.” Her smile did not reach her eyes. “You should go to bed. You need your beauty sleep.”

“I do,” I said, and we both laughed lightly. “Let’s not be strangers.”

Emma exhaled a wistful sigh. “Goodnight, big guy.”

“Goodnight, sweetheart.” Terminating the call, I tossed the phone somewhere on the floor, turned off the lamp and face-planted the pillow. “Fucking Christ.”

I haven’t felt like this about a woman since Tiffany. It’s more than interest and sexual tension. I have caught feelings. It will only end badly for us if I give into temptation. Or, I could fix the problem and find happiness in a relationship, which Is what I have always wanted.

There is only one way around this.

I need to speak to Warren.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Bleu

Dominic is strapped to the highchair in the kitchen. Breakfast time is probably his favourite meal of the day. He devoured one slice of buttered toast. Each mouthful groaned and appraised. Chopped fruit and dry cereal scattered the floor alongside stuffed animals. He might be a baby, but he is a mischievous soul. He is waiting for me to pick up the hippo and penguin so that I can return them to the plastic tray in pursuit of rocket launching and light chuckles.

Incurably suspicious, I dropped the animal in front of him, and, as predicted, he hurled it across the kitchen in a fit of laughter.

Edith will deliver a strict admonishment for overburdened laundry service. I am forever adding to her workload. Still, I collected floor-strewn animals, went to the utility room, and stuffed them in the wicker basket. Dominic tended to explore squishy, hard or furry toys, often putting them near his mouth and exposing himself to germs, so I had to protect his immune system. Technically, Edith prevented infections with her washing machine skills, eliminating dust and pestiferous irritants.

I went back to the kitchen.

Mr Jones is by the ostentatious coffee machine. His eyes were on me, penetratingly cold, as he put the mug to his lips and sipped. I had mentally prepared for life-threatening consequences. If Elijah failed the mission, leaving my father to fend for himself, the men, Brad and Vincent, had succeeded in killing the only person I had ever truly loved.

My eyes dampened.

How can I be certain without confirmation, though?

I had to speak to Elijah.

I drifted to the island with cautious steps and glided on the stool. It is glaringly obvious that Brad had yet to make the connection between father and daughter. Yes, he is onto Bleu Murphy, but with her presence hidden in plain sight, he had no directional road to walk upon. Her whereabouts remained an infuriating mystery, which suited me down to the ground.

Reaching for the bowl topped with colourful fruit, I popped a blueberry in my mouth. “Rough night?”

“Something like that.” His smooth voice raked horripilation over my skin. “You good?”

I searched for evidence of a tussle, for scratch marks or bruises on his impeccably flawless face. My father is old, frail and demented, so he never stood a chance against this man, but if he had fought, there would be signs of a struggle, right?

“Yes,” I said once direct examination receded.

“I will work from home today,” he told me, and I had to crush the itch to seek information. “You can leave the estate.”

I had yet to venture beyond the gardens. “Will I be accompanied by the guards?”

“At some point, I will assign a bodyguard. It is for Dominic’s safety, after all.” Cranking open the dishwasher, he placed the empty mug inside. “Security is advised and available for leisure time,” he said, and instant excitement bubbled within. “However, it is not mandatory if Dominic is absent. It is entirely your choice.”

Is he saying that I deserve free time without nanny duties? And unchaperoned. Surely, I heard wrong.

“You must be home by six p.m., though.” His pointer finger tapped the counter. “I have somewhere to be this evening.”

Right, I had to be home by dark for the criminal to go out and play. “Fantastic,” I said with a genuine smile, then ebullience turned into instant nervousness. “What about Dominic? Who will take care of him if I am gone?”

Brad’s cautiousness flicked to the baby.

“You?” I dared to jeer aloud. “Pardon the rudeness, Mr Jones, but are you capable of supervision?”

“My entire existence revolves around the safety of the Warren family. I get paid to preserve the well-being of others. Yes, I am capable of looking after my son.” He is unamused. “Here is some friendly advice, Alice. Impertinence, in your world, is self-mockery. You might want to keep unsolicited opinions to yourself. Errors of judgement and uncivil behaviours are punishable where I am from.”

Although I did not trust Brad to be alone with Dominic, I had to track down Elijah and, fingers crossed, see my father.

“I apologise.” Unstrapping the baby, I eased him out of the highchair and, testing boundaries, transferred him to his father. “Here you go.”

Brad raised Dominic under the arms to generate space between them. Not that our little one noticed. His chunky legs alternately kicked the air beneath him, his small, snapping hands reaching for the man’s hair. Blowing loud, spittle flying raspberries, he latched onto his father’s ears, pulling and tugging in aimless directions.

I cleared the highchair’s tray. “Do you want any advice before I leave?”

His throat cleared. “I know how to change a nappy.”

“Do you know how to prepare feeds, though?”

He shook his head.

“I will write you a list of instructions.” Removing the magnetic to-do list on the fridge freezer, I found a pen in the drawer and scribbled the baby’s routine on the paper. “He loves an afternoon nap.”

“I might work from the kitchen.” He held the baby to his chest with awkward discomfort. “Be a doll and leave the pen. I’ll need it to take notes later.”

“Sure.” I felt something warm and fuzzy inside. “Anything else?”

Lilith and Iris, the mirror image brunettes in slate-grey button tunics, entered the kitchen bearing laundry baskets and cleaning supplies.

“Good morning, Mr Jones.” Iris, the overt pervert, smiled at him. “I trust you slept well?”

I trust you slept well, I mocked inwardly.

“Better than expected.” His honeyed voice wrapped around my body. “Where is Edith?”

Iris beelined the utility room. “I think she is cleaning the nursery.”

“I changed the sheets as requested, Mr Jones.” A deep blush of coyness crept onto Lilith’s cheeks. “Do you need anything else before I leave?”

“You can leave.” He stared at her for a second. “Unless you want to hang around. No pressure, though.”

With a curt nod, she regarded him, then followed her co-worker.

Was that lustfulness aflame in her eyes?

Why did he wink in response?

Is he sleeping with the hired help?

That would be rather unprofessional.

I sought the boss’s gaze and fell into his expert scrutiny.

If he takes female employees to bed, I wonder if he’s ever considered the possibility of us. It has been too long since I had sex, especially with someone so handsomely debonair.

Remembering the feel of him pushed up against me the night I tried to escape, I quivered with desire. He is well-endowed. I bet he could split me in half with his thick, elongated cock, and the thought had my thighs squeezing together and sexual arousal intensifying. His kiss, I imagine, is raw and possessive. His rough, adept hands, painstakingly attentive and thoroughly greedy. His gravelly voice, seductive to my skin, hot to my throat. Is he gentle in bed? Passionate? Romantic? Affectionate? Experienced? Aggressive? Abandoned? Dominant? Hardcore? Perhaps he is a combination of multiple qualities.

“Alice?” His hand touched the dip of my spine, and I swallowed ravenousness. His fingers, so close to my rear end, twitched with prickly anxiousness. “Did you hear me?”

No, I was too busy lusting after you. “Yes.”

“We can finish this conversation later.” He palmed the curve of my arse cheek, and feverish anticipation bloomed in my tummy. “Run along.”

I was thunderstruck by the unexpected capriciousness on his part. His sudden flirtatiousness, albeit surprising, is rivetingly powerful. I was seconds away from throwing myself to his mercy. “Of course, Mr Jones.”

I kissed Dominic’s cheek and excused myself from the kitchen.

Maybe the boss isn’t as terrifying as I initially thought.

***

I left the Jones’ estate and walked fifteen minutes in directionless existence before calling my father’s care home to speak to Elijah. Even without armed company, I had to be one hundred percent sure that the boss’s vigilant men were too far away to see or hear the nanny’s untrustworthiness.

Hiding behind a sea of trees in the local park, scouring my surroundings, I pulled out the phone and dialled the care home’s landline number.

A female answered after three rings. “Good afternoon—”

“It’s Bleu,” I interrupted the cheerful receptionist. “I must speak with Elijah Smith.”

“Miss Murphy.” There was an edge of relief in her tone of voice. “Has anyone been in contact? It is your father…”

“What?” Trepidation poured into my veins like molten lava. “Is he okay? Did something happen?”

“The police are looking for you,” she informed me. “Bleu, I am sorry to be the one to tell you this, but your father went missing last night.”

My eyes closed as comfort settled the tempestuous pace of my thunderous heartbeat. Elijah outmanoeuvred the syndicate. Vincent and Brad did not achieve; I am sure of it. I don’t have one single piece of information as to why, when or how, but he came through for me, so I will forever be indebted to him.

“I feel awful.” She did sound sincere. “You called. You knew something, didn’t you? You tried to warn us. I gave the police a statement. If you can go to the station and explain last night’s phone call, it might help us to track him down.”

Involving the Met is not an option. If they find me, question me, I know nothing about my father’s disappearance. “May I speak to Mr Smith?”

Her silence told me that she’d expected a different reaction. Tears of sombre mournfulness, perhaps. “Let me transfer the call.”

Nibbling the cuticles by my thumb, I watched the muscle-bound male jogger do a sequence of stretches near the wooden benches.

“Bleu,” the man of the hour answered. “What took you so long? I haven’t slept. I can barely drink coffee without dry-heaving. You cannot dump something so terrifying on my shoulders then vanish off the face of the earth. How is that fair?”

“In my defence, I did promise to explain everything once I slipped away from the estate.”

“You may as well speak an entirely different language. Your vagueness is unintelligible.” He expelled a choppy breath. “Even the sound of a swinging door has me by the throat. I am constantly looking over one shoulder.”

Elijah’s apprehensiveness kindled paranoia. Lowering the phone, I stared at the screen, the name of the service provider, and the realisation of error occurred. “We need to get off the phone. It is not safe for us to talk unless it is in person.”

“Jesus.” His voice quaked with terror. “Why do I feel like an accomplice?”

Well, you did help to commit a crime. “Can you get out of work?”

“Yes.” Then, he gave me the location for us to meet. “I am leaving the office as we speak. Do not let me down.”

***

I took the bus to a nearby bargain store and found Elijah’s vehicle parked in the car park. Not a word of utterance escaped his lips when I sat in the passenger seat. He restarted the engine, shifted gears and accelerated onto the main road.

Silence permeated the air.

I stared out of the rain-splattered window, the world passing by in a colourful blur, and pondered how to discuss my father. Elijah is red-faced and visibly irritated. If he wanted to put me out of misery, he’d have done it already. Instead, he chose to ignore the other person in the car and opted for almost undetectable music on the radio.

Merely twenty minutes later, he steered past the traditional street lantern onto an asphalt driveway, the three-storey, low built property boasting modernised brickwork and anthracite grey windows and doors.

Elijah soared from the vehicle.

Hiking the bag strap over one shoulder, I chased behind him. “Are you angry?”

“Honestly? Yes, I am.” Fishing out a set of keys, he unlocked the front door. “I fear that I am caught up in something bigger than you care to admit.”

I never replied because he was right.

We entered the entrance lobby, which soaked abundant sunlight from the panoramic window, then moved into the spacious living room bedecked with leather seating accommodation, industrial-style furniture and top-of-the-range electronics.

Mrs Gill is on the phone by the wall-mounted fireplace, togged in colourful leisurewear and plastic jewellery.

I chucked the handbag on the U-shaped sofa, following Elijah into the kitchen with custom-made appliances, and marvelled at the decor, the palette consisting of sage green and sleek black.

“Coffee?” he asked, and I declined. “Will they find you here?”

I did not require elucidation. “No.”

“Your father is in bed.” With his back to me, his hands flattened on the granite counter. “Celeste called in sick to keep an eye on him. You should thank her.”

I was not on first name terms with Mrs Gill. Still, I waited for her to end the call and join us in the kitchen. “Celeste,” I said as she pulled out a chair. “Thank you for taking care of my father. I appreciate it more than you will ever know.”

“I accept your gratitude,” she said, and I sensed that she would contradict the former introduction. “However, I am less than impressed. I am a professional. I take my job very seriously. You do realise the seriousness of what Mr Murphy’s ‘disappearance’ has caused. I could lose my job. Hell, I could go to prison. Elijah, too.”

I had to vindicate myself. “To be fair, I never asked you to be involved.”

“Yet, here I am.” Her legs crossed at the knees as she accepted a mug of steamy coffee from Elijah. “Now, I think it is only fair that you help us to understand.”

Chewing the inside of my cheek, I tugged on the sleeves of my jumper. “I stole forty grand from Vincent Warren to pay for my father’s care.”

Elijah looked sickly pale and utterly aghast, but Mrs Gill merely sighed. After all, she already had reservations regarding the money.

“Vincent,” she said, pinching the bridge of her nose. “As in, Liam Warren’s brother.”

I nodded.

“Bleu.” Elijah was disappointed in me. “What have you done?”

“What other choice did I have? Head office threatened to terminate my father’s care. I had to get the money from somewhere to secure his position. Plus, I did not know they were criminals until recently.”

“Do you live under a rock?” Elijah speared a hand through his hair. “Warren Enterprise is the most predominant criminal syndicate in London. How can you be so foolish?”

My cheeks heated. “As I said, I needed the money.”

“Normal people apply for a loan at the bank. They do not get on the wrong side of dangerous criminals.” Gill stood, paced the small space, then looked despairingly at Elijah. “I want no part of this. She,” her finger aimed in my direction, “is as good as dead. And so are we if we are not careful.”

“I know, but I cannot leave her stranded.” He rubbed his weary features. “Warren is in prison. Perhaps his absence will give us some leeway.”

“Are you demented?” Her shrieked question was meant to be inoffensive, but with a dementia patient asleep upstairs, I took umbrage. “What about his associates, Elijah? Have you already forgotten about them? They came to our workplace, looking for Mr Murphy. Do you think they will just forget about him? No, they will be back with a vengeance, and I will not sacrifice myself for someone else’s stupidity.”

“Could you talk a little quieter?” Honestly, I might as well be outside in the rain; that is how unwelcomed she’s made me feel. “You are giving me a complex.”

“What is missing in that head of yours?” Her glare ran over me. “Are you not scared? How can you be so calm?”

“Well, if you let me explain,” I muttered under my breath, “I might be able to reassure the two of you.”

Elijah and Celeste exchanged quizzical glances.

“Bleu Murphy is dead,” I said, and their eyes narrowed. “Yes, she will forever live here.” I touched my chest. “But her existence no longer roams this earth. This body is a conduit for Alice Montgomery, the highly experienced childminder who lives at Bradley Jones’ estate, looking after his son, Dominic.”

Mrs Gill’s chin hit the floor. “Elijah, what is this woman’s diagnosis?”

Overlooking her insensitive comment, I licked my dry lips. “Alice is in their company often. They have no reason to question her motives. She is safe and, as crazy as this may sound, happy. Yes, they’ll continue to look for Bleu, but eventually, their thirst for revenge will come to an end, and all will be forgotten.”

“And I suppose you will proceed with this nanny nonsense.” Her arms crossed as her back rested on the counter next to the man of the house. “That was a very touching story, Bleu.” She made a point of emphasising my real name. “But how does your fawning cowardice help us? Elijah’s head will be on the chopping block if they uncover the truth behind Mr Murphy’s disappearance.”

“I deleted the surveillance footage,” he admitted, and her eyes rolled heavenward. “Celeste, I had no other choice.”

“You could have contacted the police. It is their job to protect the people.”

“Oh, now you both sound like idiots.” He refocused on exasperated hair tugs. “You cannot trust the Met. The Superintendent is on Warren’s payroll for Christ’s sake.” I must have pulled a confused face because the man explained further. “Reginald Burton is allegedly close friends with Warren. It was breaking news during the trial. He almost lost his position as a senior officer.”

I had to do more research on the syndicate. “So, where does Vincent fit into the scheme of things? He’s the younger brother?” I mused, and he nodded. “And he has taken over the fort until further notice?”

“No.” Elijah laughed dryly. “If anyone is running the show, it’ll be your new employer. Jones is the underboss. It makes sense for him to command whilst Warren is in prison.”

“What?” A chill skated over my flesh. “Vincent is so much more terrifying, though. And they are brothers. Shouldn’t he be the one to preside?”

“Your naivete concerns me.” His knuckle white grip on the mug reduced. “Celeste, we can go around in circles all day, but it will get us nowhere. What’s done is done, so let’s come up with an efficient plan. If we work separate shifts, we can take it in turns to supervise Mr Murphy.”

“He cannot stay here,” she said, and I grew agitated. “Elijah, the man is unwell. He must be within twenty-four-hour care with the trained nursing staff.”

Elijah set the mug on the kitchen counter. “I am a doctor. You are a qualified nurse. We can work as a team.” His hands held her elbows, somewhat affectionately, which made me wonder if they were more than colleagues to each other. “Please, I cannot do this by myself. Time will not allow it. I still have to work.”

“What about her?” she asked, her spine straight and tense. “Will she be expected to take some of the load?”

“I am working towards frequent leisure time,” I said, and their eyes, devoid of emotion, came to me. “My employment is short-term. I plan to hand in my notice at some point.” I had to be methodical, though. “In the meantime, I will visit at any given opportunity. He is my father. I want to be there for him.”

Mrs Gill reached for the turquoise pea coat draped on the back of the chair. “I will give you an answer by the end of the day.”

Elijah never watched her leave.

The front door slammed in her departure.

“We need her on board,” he said, and I stood to place the mugs in the dishwasher. “I cannot be in two places at once.”

I understand. “Can I see him?”

Elijah led me to the spare bedroom on the second floor. “I showered him this morning and changed him into comfortable clothes rather than pyjamas,” he said, opening the door. “He ate jam on toast for breakfast.”

My heart squeezed when I spotted my father. I thought he’d be in bed, but Elijah made a conscious effort to make him feel at home. If he were back at the care home, the nurses would encourage him to spend time in the entertainment room. He’d sit by the window to watch residents outside or admire the weather, no matter the condition. “You gave him a seat in his favourite place.” My body relaxed, knowing he was safe and content. “I wish I could play for him.”

“I don’t own a grand piano,” Elijah said with a small laugh. “I have a Yamaha in the attic, though. I bought it when I was in college, not that I ever learnt how to play. I can grab it for you if you want.”

“Yes.” My father’s temporary bedroom replicated a bog-standard hotel room. It was clean and commodious, warm and inviting. “I’d really appreciate that. Thank you, Elijah.”

I became seated at the foot of the bed whilst Elijah set off to find the keyboard.

My father’s head turned, our eyes holding, and he offered a close-lipped smile. “Hello,” he croaked, the deep-cut wrinkles around his eyes tightened marginally. “Is it lunchtime yet?”

Elijah reappeared.

Accepting the dust-layered keyboard, I plugged it into the socket, placed it atop the wooden dresser and waited for the light to turn on.

Leaving the bedroom door ajar, Elijah’s hand hesitated on the handle. “I’ll be downstairs if you need me.”

“It’s a miserable day.” I pulled up a chair next to my father. “Would you like me to play for you?”

My father scowled at the keyboard.

With or without his permission, I touched the first key with the tip of my finger, and exhilaration kicked in. “I might be a little rusty,” I said, finding the right chords. “So, you will have to bear with me.”

I closed my eyes as the song began to unfold. Fingers sweeping across the keys with tuneful direction, with golden-toned virtuosity, I revisited our home, found him in the dining room, waiting for me to accompany him by the console piano and took a seat beside him. “My love, there’s only you in my life. The only thing that’s right.”

Losing myself to momentary escapism, to the memories of our past, I rolled my shoulders back. “My first love. You’re every breath that I take. You’re every step I make. And I, I want to share all my love with you. No one else will do.”

I felt my father’s eyes on me, whether it be in the here and now or the past. It was all-consuming, his nearness, watchfulness, proud smile, and fatherly love.

“And your eyes,” I sing, pouring my heart and soul into each chord. “They tell me how much you care.” My throat burnt as I fought against tears. “Ooh, yes. You will always be my endless love.”

Pained by the melancholic performance, I gave the keys a confident brush of the fingers, ready to belt the next part of the song when I heard his familiar voice. “Two hearts,” he rasped, and I drew in a sharp breath. “Two hearts that beat as one. Our lives have just begun.”

So much, I wanted to open my eyes to watch him sing, but I was too scared to face reality in case his alertness was a figment of my imagination.

“Oh, love.” His voice, low and throaty, just as I remembered, sprouted goosebumps along my arms as he took over the vocals. “I’ll be that fool for you, I’m sure. You know, I don’t mind. Oh, you know I don’t mind.”

“You’ll be the only one,” we sang in unison, the range of our voices in tune and harmonious. “’Cause no one can deny.” My fingers tapped the edge of the piano keys. “This love I have inside. And I’ll give it all to you. My love, my love…”

His arm came around my waist. “My love.”

“My endless love.” A sob stuck in my throat. “Daddy, please don’t leave me.”

“Bleu,” he said, so confused and concerned. “Why are you upset? Don’t do that.” He pulled me closer, and I slid off the chair to kneel at his feet. “What happened?”

“Daddy.” Tears streaming down my cheeks, I reached up and cupped his face. “You came back to me.”

“Yes.” His grey eyebrows drew inward. “Of course. I would never leave you.”

Overwhelmed by the fierce love in his eyes, I held onto his wrists, the touch of his palms on my cheeks sending my pulse into overdrive.

With tentative care, he thumbed the tears on my cheeks. “I…” His jaw set in realisation. “How long do I have?”

“I don’t know.” My lips wobbled, and his eyes swelled with fresh tears. “It doesn’t matter. This moment with you is all I care about.”

“Where are we?” His distracted stare roamed the room. “Is this my bedroom? Do I like it here?”

“Yes,” I promised him. “You are happy, daddy. We are both very happy, so don’t worry about all that.”

Interlacing our fingers, he looked at our joint hands. “It belonged to your mother.” His thumb traced the vintage-style ring on my finger. “I proposed under the stars. I loved her so much.”

Resting on my knees, I enveloped his neck with my arms. “Can you hold me, please?” His arms, frail and weak, wrapped around my waist. “I missed you, daddy.”

“I’m sorry.” He choked up with inconsolable fear and despair. “I never meant to let you down, darling.”

“You could never,” I reassured him. “I am blessed to have you as a father.”

“Tell me everything.” His cheek pressed up to mine. “Are you married yet? Do you have children?” He was hopeful. “I always wanted to be a grandfather.”

I had to preserve his happiness. “I am not a mother yet,” I whispered in his ear. “But I am a live-in nanny. Dominic, the little boy I look after, is such a character. I think I am in love with him.”

“Ah.” He sighed in contentment. “You’d be a fantastic mother. I bet he doesn’t want for nothing.”

Thanks to his father, I thought.

“Bleu,” he said in a quiet voice that I almost missed. “You made me a promise.”

No, I was not ready to say goodbye. “I can’t,” I cried, the ache in my chest too much to bear. “I love you too much.”

“I…” Slowly, he peered down to the dampness between his legs. “Bleu, what have I done? I am so sorry. I…”

“It’s okay.” Taking his face in my hands, I forced him to look at me. “Anyone can have an accident, daddy. Don’t be embarrassed.”

“I don’t feel right.” His fingers tightened on the material of my jumper. “Perhaps I should lie down.” When he tried to stand, his legs buckled. “What’s happening to me? Why do my knees hurt?”

I held onto his hands, and he bristled, withering in the chair, timid and dreadfully frightened.

“Don’t be scared.” My heart shattered into a thousand pieces. “I would never hurt you. You have no reason to fear me.”

“Get away from me,” he said, his voice low and pained. “Please, I did nothing to you.”

“Bleu.” Having listened to the commotion, Elijah strode into the room. “Let me handle it from here.”

“Who are you?” Fear hitched my father’s voice as Elijah advanced. “What do you people want? How am I here? What is going on?”

Sobbing into the palm of my hand, I pushed onto my feet and stepped back for Elijah to intervene.

“No.” My father whacked Elijah’s hand aside. “Take that away from me. Help!” he screamed, looking toward the door with wide, fearful eyes. “Please, I need help!”

I run away like the coward I am.

Sprinting down the stairs, I hurried to the kitchen, slamming the door behind me to drown out my father’s hoarse cries.

In the fridge, I found a bottle of red wine, popped the cork and poured a hefty dose into the champagne glass. Downing the alcohol in one swallow, I splashed another generous amount into the glass.

Twenty minutes later, I was sitting cross-legged on the floor when the door cracked open.

Elijah peeled nitrile gloves off his hands. “I gave Mr Murphy a mild sedative to help him rest.”

“Thank you.” The unswallowable lump in my throat made it difficult to speak. “My father had a little accident.”

“I sorted it,” he said, and I gave him a grateful smile. “Don’t be too sad. You will treasure that moment together forever.”

“Did you hear him?” A mixture of happiness and sadness trickled through me. “Sometimes, it is easy to forget his wonderful voice.”

“He hasn’t lost it.” He sat on the chair, his arms handing over his thighs. “You are extremely talented, Bleu. I suppose you had a good teacher.”

Nodding, I wiped the single tear from my cheek.

“What will you do with it?” He rubbed his eyes beneath the black-framed spectacles. “Your voice, I mean. You cannot let such talent go to waste.”

I had no plans for the future; I took each day as it came.

“Your father is, hopefully, unreachable here.” He relaxed in the chair. “What about you, though? Will you be okay?”

“I think so,” I said without an ounce of conviction. “I need another phone. I cannot use the iPhone to keep in touch. It’s in Brad’s name. He can track it.”

“You can have my spare phone.” Opening the kitchen cupboard above the cooker, he grabbed an old Nokia. “I’ll save my number.” He added contact details. “You might be wise to leave the iPhone at the estate when visiting, just in case.”

I did not want to leave, but I missed Dominic like crazy. “I have to get back,” I half-lied, knowing I had hours left to kill. “Nanny duties.”

“I would drive you, but I should stay here until Celeste comes back.” He walked me to the front door. “Well, that’s if she doesn’t leave me standard.”

“Thank you for everything, Elijah.” I squeezed his hand, and his cheeks blushed in reaction. “I will message you in a few hours.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Brad

I assembled the playpen in the kitchen’s adjacent reception room to limit the baby’s waywardness. Emptying the container of age-appropriate toys on the roll-out mat, I lowered Dominic into the safety of four plastic walls, encouraged independent play, then worked at the stonework island.

Three mugs of coffee later, I hit send on today’s final email and checked the list of unfinished assignments on my phone. I am nowhere near retribution. Christ, I have barely scratched the surface.

I studied the list of names.

Jessica Pearce.

Chloe Stone.

Harold Stone.

Saverio Bosqui.

David Michaels.

Alberto Moretti.

Ignazio Corrazzo.

Beverly Bennet.

Juror number eight, Helga.

What about the other jurors, though?

The Judge.

My stare went to the plethora of Macallan bottles. Palming one bottle, testing the weight, I picked the label with investigatory fingers and read the small orange sticker stuck to the barcode. Nothing in today’s world is free. Everything comes with a price. The sender, the person responsible for the conveyance of alcohol, is trying to buy me with gifts.

Typing the name of the brand into Google, I clicked on the Macallan website and scoured contact details. As their team is available to support customers by telephone, I dialled the number, went through options, then awaited an operator. “Good afternoon, this is Jayne. How can I help?”

“In accordance with terms and conditions, I have the statuary right to return products within fourteen calendar days from the day of delivery,” I said, reading the website’s returns information. “Is that correct?”

“Products must be returned in good condition,” she replied. “And all packaging must be intact. Refunds and reimbursements will be within thirty days if we choose to accept the returns. Is the product within its original package and unopened?”

I stopped picking the label. “Yes.”

“Do you have the relevant paperwork?”

“No,” I said, listening to the sound of keyboard clicks in the background. “It was a gift, I think. I did not make the purchase.”

“Oh.” She was less than impressed. “Well, do you have the order number handy?”

Balancing the phone between my ear and shoulder, I flipped open the notepad and read out the order number.

“Red collection?” she asked, and I confirmed with a grunt. “Yes, I found the order and the delivery instructions. I do not, however, have the customer’s purchase details. Also, you cannot cancel or return personalised items unless the product is faulty or damaged.”

Tapping the pen on the counter, I watched Dominic crawl across the blanket of colourful toys in the playpen. “But I never ordered them.” When she stayed silent, I succumbed to defeat. “Fine. I will keep the bottles. Tell me, what is on the order details?”

“Did you not receive the information alongside the delivery?”

See, it is questions like that one that pisses me off. “Would I ask for enlightenment if I did?”

“Right.” Her keyboard taps grew more aggressive. “The buyer checked out as a guest. For security reasons, I cannot disclose payment details.”

Enraged by her lack of help, I ended the call. I had numerous bottles of Macallan yet no desire to drink or store them.

I checked each bottle, scribbled down letters and read the unintelligible.

UDEODMUBOTOY

How am I supposed to understand this jargon?

My phone flashed with a text message.

Nate: I am en route.

Nate: I stumbled into a mishap or two along the way.

Me: Blaire?

Nate: I delivered.

Me: Sweet.

Me: Bring her to the estate.

Nate: Are you sure?

Well, Nate, I certainly have no faith in you where Blaire (Jessica Pearce) is concerned. I would rather have the woman living under my roof, annoying the hell out of me, than hand the reins over to you.

Me: I will have one of the rooms prepared for her arrival.

Nate: Sure, man.

Me: Don’t let me down.

Message read.

A notification popped up.

Clicking onto the mail app, I loaded the email.

Dear Mr Jones

Please see the attached reply to your recent request so that I can end the correspondence.

Regards,

Mr Bishop.

HM_Prison_Service_Belmarsh_Duty_Govoner_PDF_Download

I clicked on the portable document file: Dane Russell.

“Okay,” I muttered to myself, scrolling through the man’s personal details. His life is boringly mundane. At first, I found nothing unlawful, scandalous or controversial until the last paragraph: Extracurricular activities, additional responsibilities and financially motivated lawlessness. “Blissful.”

Dominic teetered to the enclosure’s plastic window and attacked it with a plastic ball. He wore Ralph Lauren’s navy-blue polo onesie and white cotton socks emblazoned with Gucci. His short, blond curly hair framed his cute, pale face. “Babba-mum.”

I swallowed to soften the tightness in my throat.

His small hands latched onto the enclosure as he peered over. His wet lips puckered, and his feet clad in cotton doing their utmost to climb. “Babba,” he babbled, the gentle tone of his voice giving the heartstrings a sharp twitch. “Mum-mum-mum.”

Parking my arse on the stool, I dialled Russell’s personal phone number. If I have no luck with his cell, I will call the prison.

“Dane Russell,” I said once the line connected. “This is Brad Jones, an employee of Warren Enterprise. I have a bone or two to pick with you.”

He was dead silent.

“You see, I visited Belmarsh a time or two to see Warren. You might have heard of him. He was wrongfully convicted of multiple crimes and put under your care. Anyway, your guards sent my arse packing. So, I wrote him a couple of letters, some nicer than others, and awaited his response, which never ensued as a result. You’d think the arrogant fucker would be grateful for the unstinted endeavours of his men.”

“Jones,” Russell clipped. “I am a busy man. What do you want?”

I pretend to consider the question. “Ignorance breeds desperation.”

“So, it seems.” He chuckled mirthlessly. “I assume Warren’s ignorance is behind the nature of this unexpected call.”

“I want to see my boss.” Holding the phone to my ear, I slid an arm around my waist and leaned back on the stool. “And I need you to make it happen.”

“No can do.” He shut me down instantly. “I cannot force an inmate to attend visitations or reply to loved ones. Besides, that’s below my pay grade. You understand.”

“I thought you’d say that.” Twirling the pen between my fingers, I drummed it against the kitchen counter. “So, I took the liberty of digging up dirt.”

“Of course.” He sounded bemused. “Did you find anything noteworthy?”

“Noteworthy. Newsworthy. Potato. Potata.” Sliding a toothpick between my lips, I licked it to the corner of my mouth. “A little birdy told me that you transfer undisciplined, unmanageable, uncontrollable inmates—and the occasional vulnerable and unpredictable person of confinement—between prisons before inspection visits to subvert careful examination. Isn’t that gross misconduct? Oh, here is another good one. You smuggle rocks of cannabis resin into Belmarsh and receive monthly payments from our lovely felons.” I tsked. “Gangster.”

Dominic looked tired. He collapsed onto his bottom with a heavy thump, rubbing his puffy eyes.

“You son of a bitch,” Russell snapped. “I did not make myself an enemy, so do not come at me without probable cause.”

Tossing the pen down on the counter, I swivelled on the stool. “I never got to the best part.”

He breathed heavily. “And what might that be?”

“Your love child.” Reading Alice’s list of instructions, I prepared a bottle of formula milk and set it aside to cool. “Your wife is clueless. You kept it a secret, the affair, the baby, the child maintenance. Just imagine if someone leaked this information to the press. Your reprehensible, scandalous behaviour will spark controversial issues in the criminal justice system. You will lose your job and possibly land in prison for gross negligence, and your wife will leave you for someone more deserving. In the nicest way possible, I could ruin you. Your career is over. Your life is in tatters.”

He was speechless.

I am damn good at my job. “Shall I send over a bottle of rum and a nine millimetre with one bullet in the chamber?”

“Jones…” His breath, thick and raspy, expelled in short bursts. “You nasty piece of work.”

“Thank you,” I said with a proud smile. “I had a good teacher.”

“All right, Jones.” He is ready to cooperate. “I am listening.”

I tested the bottle’s temperature. “You know what I want.”

“You, of all people, should not expect the unexpected. I cannot force Warren’s hand.” Russell seemed sincere, but it’s not what I wanted to hear. “He declined visitations, so what can I tell you?”

Honest to God, when I see the boss—because I will see him again—his thankless arse will be handed to him on a filthy fucking plate. “Is this information straight from the horse’s mouth or an assumption?”

“Warren’s direct orders.”

“Why?” My lips grimaced into a snarl. “Is he angry? Upset? Depressed? Does he need a ticket to the looney asylum? Give me something to work with.”

“How the fuck should I know? We are not friends.” He sighed angrily. “Look, Warren is a man of few words. I don’t know any more than you do.”

I prepared another mug of coffee. “What does he do with the letters?”

“He reads them.”

My eyes closed in momentary relief.

“Listen, if you are concerned, don’t be. Warren is fine. He shows no signs of psychological disturbance. His mental power is second to none, and he established himself almost instantaneously. He does spend a lot of time in his cell, but he is an unsociable person. That’s not to say the other inmates ostracised him as an outcast. On the contrary, inmates make an inordinate effort to be in his good books. He’s got a mean right hook, a very short fuse and has no qualms in putting someone in their place.”

I added two heaps of sugar into the mug. “Including you.”

“Especially me,” he grunted. “Rest assured. I am not an exception.”

“What’s the score with his wife?” Hurling the teaspoon in the sink, I raised the coffee to my lips and sipped. “Has he got a replacement yet?”

“Pigs will fly first.” Russell snorted amusedly. “Prisoners tend to align with more powerful individuals to avoid sexual victimisation while incarcerated. Your guy is not a victim. In fact, he is paid generously to protect the weak and less fortunate. As for Mrs Warren? Her pictures are all over his wall, so what does that tell you?”

Yet, he refused to see her.

“Her weekly letters keep him sane,” he added, and I listened with rapt interest. “Perhaps she would be wise to silence herself.”

I gripped the phone tighter. “I am not fucking with his head.”

“Then, do not expect communication. If you want someone to come to the table, hit them where it hurts. Warren is in a protective bubble right now. You lot are like a safety net, so take away the anchor and let him face difficulty.”

Warren has survived enough hardship to thrive in solitary. If we stepped back and left him to contend with pessimistic thoughts, he’d become angry but not desperate. Moreover, the silent treatment is uncharacteristic. If he genuinely wanted us to back off, to move on without him, he’d say it and mean it. He is not one to mince his words. He is not afraid to offend. He’d put pen to paper and unleash the unforgivable through the power of words, or accept calls, tear us new arseholes and disown us for life.

What am I missing?

“I want you to put me in a room with him.” Squirting the baby’s formula milk on the underside of my wrist, I checked the temperature for the umpteenth time. “Use force if necessary. Just get the job done.”

“I make no promises. But I will see what I can do.”

Ending the conversation, I set the phone on the counter, lifted Dominic out of the playpen and laid him on the sofa for a nappy change.

With him relaxed in my arms, I settled on the floor, legs outstretched, back to the sofa, and teased his lips with the bottle’s teat.

His hand curled around my little finger as he sucked milk into his mouth.

“See, I can do this,” I said, locked in his gaze. “You will make it easy for me, right?”

The bottle became an afterthought. He made a low, amused sound as the corner of his lip kicked up into a half-smile. Milk leaked down his chin, his legs alternately kicking across my thigh.

“Enough of that.” My arm braced his weight. “You need to sleep so that I can get back to work.”

His eyes grew tired, but he was stubborn.

I decided to tell him a story.

“My father’s name is Arlo.” Well, that’s assuming he is still alive. “He is a self-taught mechanic. He used to fix up cars in our garage for the neighbours.” He wore baggy overalls with padded knees and heavy-duty boots. He listened to the radio on the old cherry wood speaker. “He loved music almost as much as he loved beer. He always had a bottle on the side whilst his head was under the bonnet.”

Dominic guzzled milk.

“Sometimes, I helped. Christ, I even had a toolbox with my name on it.” My thumb swept over his tiny fingers. “I was in charge of polishing tools, and I thought It was the best job in the world, handing him box spanners, nut splitters and torque wrenches. I was a bit of a nag, so, in reality, he was just keeping me busy. If I sat on the workbench, pretending to know what the fuck I was doing, he could work in peace.”

Dominic’s knees hiked, and flatulence passed.

“You little stinker,” I said, not that he understood. “Fair warning next time, buddy. You almost blew my hand off.”

My head dropped back on the sofa, and I stared at the ceiling in reverie.

“I think it was his safe haven. The garage, I mean. My parents were volatile. They fought daily, arguing, screaming, object-launching, so he’d take on mechanical jobs to put space between them. Not that it made much of a difference. She’d stand by the back door, calling him all the names under the sun, and he’d turn up the music to drown her out.

“Christ, she was vicious, sly and manipulative. I remember her in the kitchen once, smearing toothpaste under her eyes to make herself cry. Arlo rocked up from work hours later, and the sight of her slammed him with guilt. He apologised for coming home too late and promised to be a better man. Hell, I’d just sit there, slack-jawed and confused.

“Another time, she was on the phone to someone, her friend, telling her about this homewrecker named Dionne. Apparently, Dionne worked behind the cash register of our local supermarket. I never met her. I couldn’t tell you what she looked like. All I know is Arlo liked the woman and spent many nights at her place.

“My mother,” I added with an edge of bitterness, “she threw herself down the stairs. I saw her do it. She would deliberately hurt herself to manipulate Arlo. If she called and told him she had an accident, he’d come home and take care of her. Little did he know the broken bones, the bruises, were all self-inflicted.

“I never understood their dynamics back then. I see it now, though. She was obsessed, unhinged and unreasonable. Arlo was unhappy, but he loved his son. He tried to be a better man for my sake, but her crazy behaviour drove him away, eventually. I often wonder if he ever loved her. I think it was responsibilities that tied him down.

“He came to my bedroom every night to tell me stories until I fell asleep. I remember how sad he sounded the last time I saw him. ‘You will forget me,’” I recited from memory. “‘But I will never forget you.’”

I felt a twinge in my chest.

“The motherfucker left me,” I said, realising the baby had fallen asleep. “I’d like to think that, if he’d have known the truth, he’d have taken me with him.”

Recapping the bottle, I hoisted Dominic onto the sofa and draped the cotton baby blanket over his legs. It was the first time I appreciated Alexa’s unfathomable obsession for display cushions. I placed them on the floor as a preventive measure. If he woke up, half-asleep, and rolled to the side (not that I planned to leave the kitchen for that to occur), he’d land on a padded surface.

According to Alice’s notes, the baby would stay down for three hours.

With time on my hands, I rolled a well-deserved blunt, unlocked the kitchen’s sliding doors and sat on the rattan chair in the garden.

I only took three drags on the blunt when the phone started to ring.

Inhaling a lungful of haze, I ignored the call, and then it chimed with an array of text messages.

Leaving the blunt in the ashtray to smoulder, I returned to the kitchen and checked the phone.

Eli: We need to talk.

Me: We don’t need to do shit.

Message read.

Eli: You hired me for one job and haven’t been in touch since.

Eli: What’s the deal?

Me: Never made any deals.

Eli: Look, will you hire us or not? I will not sit around, twiddling my thumbs. I have bills to pay.

Me: And I have yet to decide whether I trust you.

Me: Cole included.

Eli: Did I not slaughter the barracks? Did I not prove myself loyal?

Me: Nikolai and Alessio escaped the fire, intact and unscathed. It was three o’clock in the morning when the syndicate torched the Vasiliev house. They should have burnt in their sleep. It sounds like someone gave them a tip-off.

Eli: ?

Me: How did they know, Eli?

Eli: I am not a mind reader, Jones.

Me: I think you are full of shit, Russian.

Eli’s name flashed on the phone.

I answered the call. “What?”

“I was born and raised in Ukraine.” He defended his honour. “The Vasiliev brothers are not allies. I am not Russian.”

“I mean, Ukraine and Russia are semantically unified. I don’t know, Eli. You can correct me if I am wrong. You say it is coincidental. I say it is uncoincidental. Now, I wait for you to prove me wrong.”

He cursed foreign words. “What must I do to earn the institution’s trust and respect?”

I bellied delightfulness. “I want dirt on the Vasiliev brothers.”

“Right.” He was cautious. “If I deliver?”

“I will give you a seat at the table.”

Ending the call, I stuffed the phone in my pocket. I had a joint and a mug of lukewarm coffee on standby. Before returning to the garden for some downtime, I glanced at the sofa to check on the baby.

The sofa was empty, the blanket on the floor, the pillowed fortress collapsed and separated.

I blinked in confusion. “Dominic?”

Scouring the kitchen and living quarters, I searched every nook and cranny, then eyed the unlocked garden doors. Unshakable dread slithered into my veins. I stepped outside, onto the patio, head whipping from side to side, and spotted a small figure waddling in the distance.

Dominic headed straight for the outdoor swimming pool.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Brad

Shouting for assistance from the guards, I ran full pelt across the manicured lawn, kicking up blades of grass. Dominic thought it was time to play. He misinterpreted the fear in his father’s voice as excitement. His hands clapped, legs swaying back and forth, as he toddled on unsteady feet to the edge of the crystalline swimming pool. It happened too quickly. He was there, bouncing and smiling, then he was gone, submerged in precarious waters.

I staggered in primal fear.

Anxiety resurfaced and prevented action.

Blinded by unyielding perturbation, I went to one knee and shoved one arm into the water. The moronic voice screaming inside the darkest part of my head deemed the bottomless depths unendurable.

If I had a favourite bath toy, it was this one. I lined the four targets across the tub on plastic stilts and aimed the red water pistol. Spraying the brown dog, I flipped the square, thrust a fist in the air, then singled out the orange fox.

“Hanging out their old love letters on the line to dry. It’s enough to make you stop believing when tears come fast and furious.” Refilling the pistol, I fixed the plastic cap. “Ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-ba.” With one eye closed, I pointed at the green crocodile. “Ba-ba-ba-ba-ba.”

“You sound like a girl.” Her unimpressed voice jerked the breath out of me. “Why must you be so feminine, Bradley?”

My dad liked the song. He is a man, and he sings it all the time.

She stood by the bathroom door with pink rollers in her hair and a stained dressing gown hanging from her shoulders. Her blood-shot eyes, empty and vacant, had dark circles, and yesterday’s makeup, patchy and smeared, highlighted the wrinkle lines around her mouth.

Embarrassment burnt my cheeks. I lowered the pistol underwater.

“I always wanted a daughter.” Her lips pinched the end of the cigarette, and puffs of smoke billowed. “It would have been so much fun, doing each other’s hair and makeup. I could buy her dresses and pretty shoes and take her dancing.”

Water dripped from the cold tap.

“Do you like pretty shoes?” she asked, and I shook my head. “What about frilly socks?”

My lips pursed.

“Yet, he sings like a little girl.” Blowing a cloud of smoke toward the suspended, she lifted the nightie to her waist and sat on the toilet. “Your father has one job, and that’s to help you become a man. Not a fucking princess.”

“I won’t sing anymore,” I promised as she emptied her bladder. “I don’t even like the song all that much.”

Taking one final drag on the cigarette, she dropped it down the toilet between her thighs and unrolled tissue paper. “Did he come home last night? Your father.”

I nodded.

“Did he come and see you?”

Again, I nodded.

“Did he mention her?” she asked, and I must have pulled a face because her eyes rolled. “Don’t play dumb with me, Bradley. I know he talks to you.”

“Not about that stuff.” It was the truth. My dad talked about work, cars and music. He mentioned the racetrack, where boy racers took their vehicles for a spin near the quarry. He said we could go and watch someday. “I’m sorry.”

“So, he never brought up other women, huh? What about the kids? Did he tell you about them? I bet he is over there now, watching their television, listening to their radio, eating food at their table. He isn’t at work. He lies so that you don’t suspect anything. But he will expose himself. Mark my words. He will be your greatest disappointment, Bradley.”

I wanted to climb out of the bath, but the towel was on the radiator, and she was still in the bathroom. “I washed my hair, so can I get out?”

“Yes.” Pulling the toilet flush, she stood, pulled down her nightie and washed her hands in the sink. “Well, hurry up.”

My mouth flattened.

“What’s wrong?” Hands to her hips, she turned to face me. “Oh, for goodness sake. I gave birth to you. I know what’s down there, and it’s nothing I ain’t seen before.”

My dad said I had to be mindful of girls. I am not allowed to be disrespectful. The guy between my legs had to stay hidden until I was older and knew what to do with it. At least, that’s what he told me. Plus, she is my mother. She is not supposed to see it. “I’ll get out when you do.”

Her mouth parted in shock. “Bradley…”

Keeping a hand over my penis, I complained, “It’s embarrassing.”

“Oh?” Knotting the robe at her waistline, she lowered to one knee by the tub. With pink-painted fingernails, she stroked the side of my neck. “You never have to be embarrassed in front of me. I am your mother.”

I am getting older, though.

“Where did you get the necklace?” Her fingers fixed the twisted silver chain around my neck. “I don’t recall buying it for you.”

“Dad,” I said, flinching when her rough palm fell to my thigh. “He found it on the floor at work.”

“You really believe the man is a saint.” Clumps of mascara dangled on the end of her eyelashes. “He can’t do anything wrong, and it sickens me.” Her breath smelt funny, stale cigarettes and too much alcohol. “I’m sorry to be the one to tell you, but he doesn’t love you, Bradley. Hell, he thinks you belong to the milkman.”

My chest caved.

Her hand scooped water, and she sprinkled droplets onto my head. “You believe me, right?”

“Yes.” Tears of disbelief poured down my cheeks. “I believe you.”

“Then, why do you cry?” Her face set in a permanent scowl. “Why do you cry, Bradley?”

“I love my dad,” I admitted, and the devastated look on her face hurt me inside. “I love you, too. I love both of you.”

“Do not lie to me.” Her palm, short and sharp, struck my cheek. “Do not lie to your mother.” Her fingers crawled to my throat, and I braced myself. “It is very, very bad. Do you understand?”

My bottom lip jutted forward.

“Bradley…” Her brow arched, and I tried to speak, but her fingers, too tight around my neck, made talking impossible. “When will you learn?”

Why do I always upset her?

Her fingers dug into my throat.

“No,” I whimpered, holding onto her wrist. “Please, not again—”

She shoved my head under the surface, pinning me to the base of the bath. “You make me do it,” she said, her voice robotic and almost indistinct. “You make me hurt you, Bradley. And I hate it. I hate hurting you.”

My hands seized her forearms as the water invaded my mouth. Screaming bubbles of silent panic, I kicked out, the heels of my feet clipping the chrome-plated taps. Fears clung to every bone in my body. My legs flailed but to no avail.

Her hand dragged me back to the surface.

I gasped, spluttering water from my lungs. “Mum—”

Coldwater covered my head.

I was back under.

My mother’s blurry face loomed above. “You will learn.” Her fingernails cut into my skin. “You have to learn.”

I stopped fighting.

My body felt lighter.

My mother. You are supposed to protect me, not hurt me. But that’s our relationship. You put the fear of God into me, then confuse me with love and affection.

I felt light-headed.

“Bradley!” Her arm snaked under my back, hoisting me out of the bath. “What did you do?”

Choking on a mixture of sobs and water, I freed myself from her arms and crawled across the floor to get away.

My lungs burnt.

Snatching the towel down from the radiator, I pressed the coarse fibres to my chest, where my heart galloped violently.

A drop of blood landed on the bath matt.

I touched the indents on my throat.

Her fingernails drew blood.

“You have to learn. It’s how it must be until you learn. Learn from your bad behaviour,” she said repeatedly. “It’s the only way, Bradley.”

Nodding numbly, I secured two palms to the floor and forced myself to uphold the bodyweight threatening to buckle my elbows.

I don’t know what hurt more: Drowning in the bath, being on the receiving end of her fist or trying to understand her conflicted emotions.

I slapped myself twice in the cheek, the sharp sting knocking some sense into me. Pushing to my feet, I jumped into the swimming pool and speared into the cold depths of water, the impact thrusting fizz into my nose. Peeling the suit jacket off my body, I left it afloat and, through unfocused eyes, swam toward the baby.

Drowning is my greatest fear.

It was my only fear.

But then, I had never experienced the fear of losing a child before.

Holding my breath, I swam to the middle of the pool with fanatic legs and hauled Dominic into my protective arms. His lifeless body slumped over my shoulder. I palmed his pale cheek. “Son,” I rasped, thumbing his closed eyelids. “Come on.”

He is not breathing.

Instant anger detonated. “Get over here!”

My order unfroze the guards. They jogged over, kneeling at the poolside to intercede.

Swallowing a mouthful of water, I waded toward them. “He’s not fucking breathing!”

“Brad?” Alice’s face appeared in the crowd of panic-stricken faces. “Give him to me.”

Slapping one palm on the ledge, I eased the baby into her care. She laid him on the floor, put her ear to his mouth—and I looked away, hand flat to my lips, tears burning the back of my eyes.

“Don’t just stand there,” she yelled at the guards. “Call an ambulance.”

Pulling myself out of the swimming pool, I sat back on my haunches and watched her perform cardiopulmonary resuscitation on my son in the corner of my eye.

My body trembled from the aftershock.

Each second felt like an hour.

I stared at the miserable heavens with bated breath.

“It’s not working,” she cried, and premature pain and grief found a convoluted route into my heart. “Mr Jones. I don’t know how to fix this.”

What the fuck is wrong with you, Jones?

You are trained in CPR.

Rolling up the sleeves of my shirt to the elbows, I moved her aside. “Out of the way.”

Knowing Dominic was unresponsive, I delved straight into chest compressions. His body was too small under my hands. I did not want to hurt him, but I pressed hard and fast. You can fix bones. You cannot replace your child.

“Come on.” Tilting his head, opening his airway, I pinched his nose, covered his mouth to create a seal and gave him two gentle breaths. “Dominic.”

I never stopped.

Not when Alice cried.

Not when it felt hopeless.

I breathed oxygen into my son until his eyes opened and the paramedics arrived.

And broke.

***

Dominic is none the wiser to today’s near-death incident. He is on the children’s ward for observations, happy, content and laughing. If there was ever a moment to feel proud, it was seeing him toddle around the room in a bright white sleepsuit.

Christ, this little guy survived. I did that. I continued rescue breathing until oxygen refuelled his lungs, and his low-pitched cry played like music to my ears.

I achieved more today than I have in over a decade.

I will never feel comfortable enough to swim or relax in deep waters, not after Her discipline methods, but I was there for my son when he needed me the most. I could be a better dad. I’ll make damn sure of it.

Alice travelled with Dominic to the hospital in the ambulance whilst I drove the Bentley. Luckily, I had a change of clothes in the boot, thanks to community service. I switched the wet suit for a grey tracksuit in the car park, the leather shoes for white trainers, then sent a few text messages to alert family and friends.

My phone has blown up with worried responses ever since.

“Bab-bab-babba.” Dominic whacked the dummy on the junior low bed, then tried to climb onto the disorganised mattress. “Babba-mum.”

“I think he misses his mother.” Alice stood by the window with a jacket folded over her crossed arms. “What do you think?”

I couldn’t care less about Chloe Stone.

Dominic waved a children’s book above his head.

“No,” I warned, not that he cared to listen. “Don’t do that.”

The book landed upside down on the floor.

He clapped, picked up the book, threw it again.

I smiled at his mischievousness. “Why are you so naughty?”

He bent over at the waist and peered at me through his parted legs.

The dummy fell out of his mouth.

He kicked it aside, grabbed the stuffed hippo on the floor and brought it over to show me.

“Do you like it?” I asked in an almost undetectable undertone, not wanting Alice to eavesdrop. “I ordered a zoo of animals online. I might give you the monkey earlier than planned, though. You had a bit of a rough day, huh?”

Kneading his eye with a curled-up fist, he climbed onto my lap.

Wrapping an arm around him, I pulled him close, and his cheek fell to my chest. Nuzzling my nose in his hair, I held him tighter than usual. He had no idea how much I needed to hug him, to appreciate him. He is not an unwanted burden. He is a blessing—my blessing. I’ll spend the rest of my life reassuring him.

Soon, he gave into tiredness and closed his eyes.

I watched him sleep for a solid hour.

Alice offered to take over for me to buy coffee.

“Are you hungry?” Tying my hair into a messy knot, I swung open the door. “They might have sandwiches downstairs.”

“No, I’m fine.” Alice dropped into the visitor’s chair. “I ate earlier. You don’t need to worry about me, Mr Jones.” She was red-faced, but brazen coquettishness glittered in her eyes. “You are too kind.”

“Right.” I stared narrowly. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

Closing the door behind me, I took three steps down the hall and hesitated.

You are too kind.

What is that?

I offered the woman cheap sandwiches from the vending machine, and she blushed a deep scarlet and disrobed me with her eyes. I might be going through a dry spell, but I can smell amorousness a mile away.

My gaze returned to the closed door.

No, it’s in my head.

Alice is not fawning after her boss, is she?

Yes, I know I am Adonis incarnate, but fortunate handsomeness is inconvenient when well-proportioned features attract the undesirable. I don’t mean to be offensive. Alice is cute if you like the whole nerd-in-glasses look. She does nothing for me, though. Plus, I am too busy with life to get distracted by employees.

I found the vending machine in the busy waiting room on the ground floor.

It only accepted coins.

“You have got to be shitting me.” Shaking the leather wallet, I fossicked through fifty-pound notes. “What’s a guy gotta do to get some coffee?”

My phone vibrated.

Nate: Is Dominic okay?

Nate: I am almost at the estate. I will secure Blaire then drive to the hospital.

Alexa: Brad, I am worried about the two of you.

Alexa: Call me as soon as you get five.

Vincent: Alexa messaged. Dominic will be fine. He has to be with a father like you.

Vincent: I am here if you need anything.

Sailor: Kiss Dominic from me.

Replying to their messages, I silenced the phone and shoved it in my pocket.

I searched for a different payment method. Nope. I had no luck.

“Fuck you. Nobody uses coins anymore,” I said angrily, and injured folks cast judgement with their beady little eyes. “Where do I put the paper, huh?”

Tampering the urge to flip them off, I zipped the leather wallet and tucked it in my pocket. I wasn’t even that hungry, but the pre-made chicken and mayonnaise baguette, stuffed with lettuce and tomatoes, held back by four metal prongs, taunted me.

I was about to shake the worthless machine when a tingle danced down my spine. Peering over one shoulder, I came face to face with familiar green eyes and stood taller.

Who’d have thought that the girl in patterned genie pants and a simple black vest had the power to curb my wayward tongue?

Yeah, I am smitten. That much is obvious. Is it normal to react to the sight of her, though? Am I meant to respond with a breathless jerk of the chin or pretend the heart is beating double time just because she is smiling at me?

Tone it down, Jones.

“You could always ask around.” Emma counted the loose change in her purse. “I am sure someone will help a guy out.”

“What are you doing here?” My stare flickered over the sea of heads, searching for Benjamin or Carter. “Is someone sick?”

“Cast replacement.” Her damp, casted arm raised between us. “Don’t ask.”

Brad’s bitch.

Brad’s annoying friend.

Brad’s favourite person—sometimes.

Nobody else had signed it.

My lips twitched smugly.

Of course, no one else signed it.

My name is stamped all over it.

Emma slipped money into the vending machine.

“I swear, this is not miserliness of miser,” I joked, pressing the button to chicken supreme. “I can afford a sarnie.”

“I never thought you were a cheapskate, so don’t worry.” Her back leaned against the wall, and I glimpsed at the slither of her exposed stomach. “Why are you here?”

I suddenly had a thing for faded stretch marks. And I definitely likedhoned hipbones and soft curves.

“Dominic fell in the pool,” I said, and her eyes widened. “No, he’s okay. He has to stay for a few hours for observations, but they’ll likely send him home before midnight.”

“I’m glad that he’s okay.” A look of relief etched across her face. “What about you? You look shaken up.”

Shaken up is an understatement. I blacked out for a second and went back there, to her. Dominic might have died, and I would be blameworthy. Christ, I’d have never forgiven myself. Fear of water or not, he needed his father’s protection. What kind of dad leaves their child in a life-threatening situation to preserve his own sanity? If you’d have asked me that question twelve months ago, I’d have raised a hand without care or regret. It’s crazy how everything can change within a blink of an eye.

“I am shaken up.” I leaned down to retrieve the baguette. “It was fucking scary.”

I thought I might lose him.

Emma’s hand fell to my forearm.

Fuck. Her touch was sympathetic, reverent and gentle, yet it set my soul on fire.

Intense silence heated the air between us. I threaded our ring-laden fingers, her silver to my gold, and pulled our joint hands to my chest.

She stumbled, having missed a step, and her neck craned to look up at me. Her beautiful green eyes, framed in dark eyelashes, searched mine.

“I don’t think about you,” I whispered, and she worked on a tight swallow. “Not once. Not even a little bit.”

“Yeah?” Heat travelled to her face as she bit into her bottom lip. “Ditto.”

“I definitely want to avoid dinner with you,” I said hoarsely, and her head turned to hide the smile on her lips. “I have no interest in kissing these lips.” The pad of my thumb traced her mouth. “None whatsoever.”

“Big guy.” Her fingers tugged me in by the waistband of my jogging bottoms. “You make it very difficult to forget about you.”

I don’t want her to forget about me.

Dropping a chaste kiss to her cheek, I unwrapped the baguette and proffered half. “Do you want to share? You can have the big one,” I said with a wink, and she slapped my arm playfully. “What? I am a gentleman.”

Laughing at the madness, she thanked me for the hacked piece of baguette and took a generous bite.

“Are you busy next Saturday?” My eyes stayed on the food to avoid any awkward glances. “We could go somewhere.”

She sucked sauce off her thumb. “Where do you want to go?”

“You decide,” I suggested, then I regretted it. “Or is that unromantic? Am I supposed to plan the night in advance? Help me out.”

“No, I like spontaneity,” she said, her eyes wild with mischief. “Will you pick me up?”

“Like a knight in shining armour.”

“Will there be a horse?”

“Only a stallion.”

“Will we ride into the sunset?”

“Now you’re taking the piss.”

Her head fell back in laughter, and I found myself counting those beauty marks on the column of her neck once more. Rope-style earrings encrusted with wooden beads, colourful gems and dangling feathers draped from her ears.

It was very Emma. And I loved it.

Taking a bite of the baguette, I swiped mayo from the corner of her lips and sucked the pad of my thumb.

Emma focused on my mouth.

She wanted a kiss.

Christ, I wanted whatever she had to offer.

“Mr Jones?” Alice tapped my shoulder, and I jumped back in surprise. “Sorry to interrupt, but the doctor is back. He wants to speak with you.”

“Go ahead.” Dumping the barely eaten baguette, I dusted off my hands. “I’ll be up in a second.”

Alice gave my hand a squeeze before disappearing down the hall.

Emma’s eyebrows twisted in perplexity.

“What?” I asked, and she broke eye contact. “Don’t be shy. It is not a good look on you.”

She was puce with jealously. “Who is that woman to you, big guy?”

Why is she ready to run away from me? I scowled at the ferocity of my irregular heartbeat.

“Dominic’s nanny.” I gave her a long glare. “Why does it feel like I have fucked this up already?”

“What? No,” she reassured me. “I mean, she looked angry, so I thought…”

My head tilted slightly. “You thought what?”

“Maybe you and her…” His expression morphed into frowned assuredness. “Ignore me. I am tired and…”

Yes, she is indisputably jealous, and I cannot fathom why. I hope that’s not a bad personality trait. I work around women daily, so it’s something she would need to get used to or this, us, it’s not going to work.

“Emma, I am not remotely attracted to the nanny.” Taking her neck in my hands, I kissed the crease between her brows. “I am, however, very interested in you.”

“Sorry, I had no right to ask.” Her fingers splayed over my chest. “Go to your son. You can text me later.”

I kissed her lips softly then rushed upstairs to take my son home.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Brad

I unlocked the Bentley, and Alice climbed into the backseat, keeping Dominic on her lap, which is negligent and unsafe on my part, but there is no car seat present so denounce me. I can handle contempt and castigation. It would not be the first time someone struck me with critical disapprobation in public, and it would not be the last.

In addition to irresponsible parenting, I will drive at a sensible pace on quieter roads to reduce the risk of injury or collision, even if it takes much longer to get home.

Not that I doubted myself.

I happen to be a very skilful driver, abstinent from drugs and alcohol or downright intoxicated, with or without high-speed chases or rolling ambushes with pointed firearms.

And I love a good old adrenaline rush.

Not tonight, though.

Tonight, I had to keep one’s wits.

There was an uncomfortable silence when I sat in the driver’s seat. Alice has said less than ten words since the doctor discharged Dominic from the hospital.

I studied her in the rearview mirror.

Her empty eyes roved over unrecognisable faces in the extensive car park.

My brows pulled tight.

Forcing out a huge breath, I stuffed leaflets on secondary drowning in the glove compartment.

Dominic is happy as a lark, but the doctor stressed, however rare and unlikely, pulmonary oedema can develop post drowning and may progress into something more life-threatening, such as hypoxemia and acute respiratory distress syndrome.

Clinical hallmarks are beyond comprehension, hence the leaflets, so I will read possible symptoms and monitor him throughout the night.

If truth be told, I am scared to let him out of my sight. I might sleep in his bedroom to be sure he is awake at the crack of dawn.

I almost lost him.

And I felt oddly invigorated by the reality check.

It was the slap in the face I needed.

I steered out of the car park and onto the main road with one-handed ease. When I glimpsed in the rearview mirror, I found Alice glaring at the back of my head. “Problem?”

“I am apprehensive.” Her eyes slithered into disdainful slits. “I should be able to leave the estate without concerns.”

I dislodged the lump in my throat.

“How did Dominic even fall in the swimming pool? How did he get outside in the first place? You were supposed to be watching him.” A tear slid down her cheek. “I don’t think you realise the seriousness of what happened. He could have died.”

“But he didn’t.” I soon reciprocated her contemptuousness. “Dominic fell asleep. I went outside to take a break but left the phone in the kitchen. I went back inside to answer it and never considered the unlocked door. I mean, why would I? He was asleep.”

Her eyes rounded behind red-framed glasses. “He came downstairs by himself?”

No, I put him on the sofa because, well, I am a shit father.

“Dominic snuck outside whilst I was on the phone. As soon as I noticed, I ran across the garden and tried to stop him. He thought it was a game. He was laughing and jumping…”

“It is a game to him,” she told me, and I felt worthless for not knowing that. “We do it all the time. He runs down the halls and waits for me to chase him. You would know…”

Alice never finished the sentence.

It was easy enough to construe the judgement in her voice, though.

I would know Dominic’s routine if I bothered to pay attention.

“It was an accident,” I whispered to myself. “Listen, I never claimed to be a responsible parent. Raising a kid is uncharted territory. I never knew he existed until recently.”

Her jaw clenched in a moment’s tension.

“It is not my intention to hurt him.” Threading the steering wheel through my hands, I turned down the street. “I will do better.”

We travelled the rest of the way in silence.

I spotted several vehicles parked in an unorganised fashion outside of the house.

Reversing between the Audi Q7 and the Bugatti, I pulled up the handbrake, turned off the engine and stepped onto the asphalt.

Alice held Dominic as we strode to the entrance.

One of the guards emerged from the shadows, swiped a keycard across the mechanic reader and unlocked the door for me.

I heard voices in the distance.

Pulling the grey hoodie over my head, I flung it on the marble sideboard.

“I will take Dominic to bed.” Alice rushed ahead. “Goodnight, Mr Jones.”

“Not yet,” I called out, and she paused with one foot on the stairs. “My family is here for the baby.”

“Oh?” Her mouth circled. “Shall I join you?”

“You live here,” I reminded her. “You are not banned from the kitchen, Alice. Stay or go to bed. It is entirely your choice.”

Her left eye twitched. “I will join you.”

Dominic led us to the kitchen on unsteady feet. He was mind blown by the loud-mouthed visitors and the colourful display of helium balloons, so much so that he stilled in the doorway and burst into tears.

It was a full house. I appreciated their visit, the piled-high pizza boxes effusing a combination of fresh basil, melted cheese and cooked meats, and an inexhaustible supply of fruit juice and bottled spirits.

Dominic dropped to his backside. Cheeks empurpled, mouth wide open, teary-eyed and hands glued to the floor between his parted legs.

“Shit.” Alexa hadn’t expected the baby’s sad reaction. She released the string of helium balloons, and they floated to the ceiling. “What happened?”

“Balloons? Get well soon? Really?” Snaking an arm around her waist, I kissed her cheek. “A hug would have sufficed, sugar tits.”

“I will hug him.” She slid me a confused look. “And I thought children loved balloons.”

I pointed to the wailing kid. “Apparently, not.”

Alexa had to console him. “Ah, it is all my fault.” She crouched in front of the baby, wiped his tear-streaked cheeks, and lifted him into her arms. “I am sorry. I never meant to scare you.”

Alice stood like a spare part at the end of stonework island. Tugging her hoodie sleeves, she climbed onto the stool, arms folded on her lap, and offered everyone a meek smile.

“I hate kids,” said a familiar voice, and my eyes jerked up. “They cry over everything and anything.”

A pale-faced Josh stood in the middle of Nate and Alife. He was not out of the woods, heavy-eyed, chapped-lipped and messy-haired, but he was back in a new three-piece, ice diamonds, smug confidence and a shit-eating grin.

“Who invited this tool to the party?” Rounding the island, I pulled the son of a bitch in for a long hug, fisting the back of his suit jacket. “Took your time,” I whispered in his ear. “I missed you.”

His inked hand grasped the nape of my neck. “I enjoyed the break,” he joked, his weight slumped in my embrace. “I lie. I hated it.”

“You got through it.” My voice stayed low. “On a scale of one to ten. How much did Alexa annoy you?”

“Zero.” He stepped back. “I’d have gone stark raving mad without her.”

The boss’s wife turned on her heel to face us. “I love compliments.”

I flicked her in the nose. “This is a private conversation.”

“I heard my name, so I tuned in.” She smothered the baby’s cheek with kisses, and he chuckled breathlessly. “Put the dog outside.”

Logan, the unsociable twat, is relaxing on the sofa, the chain-collared black and tan dog sitting between his legs in an upright position with tucked in feet. “Why?”

She gestured to Dominic.

“He likes kids.” Logan gripped the dog’s collar. “Brad, can Bruno stay inside?”

“Logan,” Alexa hissed. “You should never undermine the person that feeds you.”

His eyes rolled.

“It’s cool,” I said, and the lad let go of the dog’s collar. “If he barks, I will put a bullet between his eyes.”

“Bruno won’t bark.” Logan stretched out on the sofa, typing a message on the phone. “He is curious, that’s all. Besides, Dominic lived with two Dobermann Pinschers, so he’ll be fine. Ain’t that right, Alexa?”

Alexa’s cheeks hollowed. “I suppose.” Her arms tightened around the baby’s waist as he leaned forward to clap at Bruno, who circled the woman’s feet and licked her white trainers. “Gross.”

“Holy shit.” I nudged the side of her trainer with the tip of my foot. “You traded heels for daps.” And she modelled a beige, long-sleeved jumper dress with Vivienne Westwood’s classic orb emblem belt. “You are an imposter.”

“No, I listened to your advice and gave my feet a rest.”

“Jones.” Vincent’s knuckles skimmed Alexa’s spine as his brows raised in greeting. “I bought two bottles of Jameson. Do not thank me. It is to prevent petulance only.”

Yeah, because he is never grouchy or disgruntled. “Why would I thank you?” I placed the bottles on the counter. “I don’t even like you.”

He hummed.

“I ordered every pizza on the menu.” Nate slid a plate across the counter, and then he stole Dominic from Alexa. “Knock yourself out.”

I am Hank Marvin. I could smash three pizzas in my face, sides and snacks in one sitting. It was only what my stomach deserved. Excluding the half-eaten baguette I shared with Emma, I hadn’t eaten much today.

Emma Hughes.

I had to text her before bed.

Flipping open the pizza box, I delved in for a slice of pepperoni passion. “Alife, should I be worried? Your eyes are pinned to my arse.”

Alfie turned white. “I am in a relationship, Sir.”

Sir. It is so formal, polite and respectful.

I bastard hated it.

“Brad or Command, I can work with. I am not Warren, so leave formalities outside.” Mozzarella melted on my tongue, and I groaned with gusto. “And what does that even mean? You have a boyfriend—big deal. Your eyes will still wander. It is human nature.”

Alexa chose a slice of hot and spicy. “I hate that he is right.”

“Hot and spicy, huh?” I winked, and she ruined the sizzling moment by tearing into food with unladylike barbarism. I watched her dip a folded pizza slice into hot sauce and maul it into cheesy shreds. “You are asking for indigestion.”

She licked hot sauce from her upper lip.

“You eat like a pig,” I pointed out, and she chuckled. “And, of course, I am right. Just because you are in a relationship, it does not mean you cannot be attracted to someone else. Be rational.”

I should know. I was committed to Tiffany. I never cheated at any point in our relationship, but I marvelled at beautiful women like the best of them.

“I learnt this the hard way.” Alexa nodded in agreement. “Suffice to say, I am a jealous mare when Liam’s eyes wander. We got into a debate over it once.”

Warren is just as bad, if not worse. He is jealous, obsessive and possessive. He can glance at the opposite sex with disinterestedness or give credence to their attractiveness, but, in his eyes, no woman compares to his wife.

Alexa is his soul-mate.

Now, switch roles, and put Alexa in a room with warm-blooded males, and he is perturbed by their existence. Christ, he’d kill a man for even admiring her from afar. That’s the extremity of his anger and jealousy. He becomes irrational, impulsive and insecure. He is convinced, because she is slightly younger, that she will, someday, fall out of love and trade him for a younger model.

Vincent made a low, continuous sound in the back of his throat. “Explain the debate.”

“Well,” Alexa used a napkin to clean her hands, “I am guilty of having extremely jealous tendencies. I know it is unhealthy, but my argument is valid. Liam slept with many women, and he is insanely handsome, right?”

Warren is blessed in the looks department. “I am straight. I see a psychotic killer, not a sexy arse that I want to bone.”

Alfie is the only gay in the room. He will have the correct answer.

“What are your thoughts?” I asked, and Alfie stiffened with the garlic bread near his mouth. “Is Bossman sexy as sin?” I dropped pepperoni onto my tongue. “Would you throw him down or what?”

“That would be impossible.” Alfie poured orange juice into a glass. “Even if Warren was sexually attracted to men and women, I believe he would prefer the insertive role.”

“I concur.” Vincent laughed into the whiskey glass. “My brother would never play the receptive role.”

Vincent is bisexual. I am sure of it.

“What about you?” I probed, and Vincent’s piercing blue eyes came up. “Are you a giver or a taker?”

Nate smothered a snort.

Vincent’s head cocked. “What about me?”

“He wants to know if you are versatile.” Alfie’s concentrated gaze held mine. “Isn’t that right, Brad?”

“Versatile?” Vincent’s ringed fingers tapped the counter. “What do you think, Jones?”

“You know what I think.” Squirting a dollop of ketchup onto the plate, I dipped three fries into tomato purée and tossed them into my mouth. “You swing both ways.”

Vincent twisted on the stool to rest his elbows on the counter. “Perhaps,” he said whispery. “You are very invested in my sex life. Why does it bother you so much?”

I am not bothered. It is no skin off my sack if he likes men and women. I am nosey, though, and not knowing is messing with my head. “I have a great arse, but I have to aim it in the opposite direction whenever you or Alfie enter the room.”

“Brad!” Alexa hurled a bunched-up napkin in my face. “You are so full of yourself. Just because Alife is gay and Vincent is, well, Vincent, it does not mean they are attracted to every male on the planet. Gay people have preferences like straight people. Alfie’s preference is Jax. Vincent’s preference is…” Her eyebrows incurved. “What is your preference? You have only dated blonde women, right? I am not even convinced that you like men.”

That one-way conversation had way too many preferences.

“Having a type is a controversial topic.” Vincent’s thumb circled the circumference of the glass. “Some might argue that you are not fixated on specific qualities, whereas others believe you are only attracted to someone who fits the criteria. In spite of what experts claim, I have personal predilections.”

“Blonde women?” I went in for a third slice of pizza, flicking distasteful red onions into the cardboard box. “Blond men?”

“Neither.” Vincent watched me, close and intrusive. “Does that answer your question?

Not one bit.

Alice nibbled on potato wedges. “Do you prefer brunettes?”

All eyes turned to Vincent.

Vincent gave her a long, derisive look. “Brunette’s outclass pale-faced nannies with straw-coloured hair and uncontrollable tongues. Does that appease your small mind?”

Alice’s eyes doubled in size.

“Vincent…” Alexa flinched when Alice shot off the stool and bolted out of the kitchen. “That was rude.”

Vincent splashed whiskey into the glass with high-handed indifference. “Alice is rude, impolite, and offensive. I will not apologise for taking her down a peg.”

“Alice is Dominic’s nanny.” Alexa closed the pizza box. “Make an effort.”

“Sure.” His lie came with a tight smile. “Finish your story.”

“Well, I get paranoid.” Alexa nursed bottled water. “My husband is a catch, and women see him. So, whenever he glimpses at females, I think he is eye-fucking them. I chuck his past in his face, accuse him of all sorts, then he has to reassure me, and it is wrong. It’s ironic, really. It took separation for me to realise how unfair I behaved. I love him so much, but I have caught myself looking at men from time to time. Not with interest but curiosity. Brad is right. It is human nature. My husband does not regret our marriage because of a fiery red-head or a buxom blonde goddess.” Her cheeks flushed. “I will make a conscious effort to trust him in the future.”

One of the crazy females screamed underground.

Nate winced. “That’s Blaire.”

Christ, I forgot about the she-bitch. “Alexa, can you take Dominic to Alice?” Dabbing my lips with a napkin, I beelined the door. “I have to welcome our new guest.”

Trekking underground with the men in tow, excluding Nate, I twisted a silencer onto the Glock and, with a short breather, unlocked the door to room fifteen.

Gia is on the broken camping bed, her hair greasy and slicked in sweat, her face plaid and blotchy. Her chamber reeked of vomit and urine. She had kicked the steel bucket across the room and soiled the mattress in the act of churlishness.

Josh’s hands slid into his trouser pockets. “Who the fuck is that?”

“Saverio’s daughter, Gia Bosqui. Your dad let you down,” I told her, and her head dipped to hide from the men in the room. “What does that mean?”

Her breath shuddered. “In Italy—”

“London rules, not Italian.” I squatted by the bed and put us eye-level. “Fuck the mafia’s code of silence. You are his daughter. He should sacrifice himself for you.”

Gia spat in my face.

Wiping my cheek with the back of my hand, I stood, cocked the Glock and aimed it at her head.

“No,” she sobbed, her blue-tinted lips quivering. “Mrs Warren promised I could go home to my babies.”

I am not Alexa. “She gave you the chance to cooperate.”

“I told her the address.” Sitting back on her haunches, she peered up at me. “What more can I do for you?”

Vincent hummed. “You lied.”

“I did not lie,” she spat angrily. “I sent you to my father.”

It was a bogus address. A dead end. An empty lead. Gia Bosqui is full of shit.

“Per favore.” Her husky voice hitched. “I am not ready to die.”

I gripped her chin. “Where is Bosqui? Last chance.”

Her eyelids shut in defeat.

“I admire your loyalty.” Giving her head a shove, I stepped back and, finger tracing the trigger, fired at point-blank range. Blood bespattered the brick wall. Her body slumped to the side in lifeless finality with the perfect gun-shot wound to the head. Yet, my mood did not recover. “Josh, text clean up.”

The lad pulled out his phone.

I unlocked the door to room seven.

Blaire is by the bolted bathroom door. Her hair is blonde, her skin caked in fake tan, and her comfortable attire exposed the pregnant bump.

“It’s a boy, right?” Cleaning the Glock with a satin napkin, I tucked it behind the waistband of my pants. “Let’s get down to business, Pearce. Who is the father?”

“I already told you.” Her eyes were on Vincent as she spoke to me. “Warren.” Something—or someone—caught her attention behind me. “Hello, Alexa.”

“You can smile all you want.” Alexa appeared at my side. “But you will not have the last laugh. Your time is up. You will live here and, for the baby’s sake, eat three healthy meals per day, rest when fatigued, bathe when required and enjoy provided entertainment. You will not, however, leave the estate. You will be confined to four walls like a prison sentence,” she emphasised. “Consider Brad’s hospitality a glorified version of death row.”

Blaire is expressionless. “What if I kill you first?”

When Alexa stepped forward, I shot an arm in front of her. “Behave,” I said, and the furious woman side-eyed me. “We wouldn’t want anything to happen to Warren’s kid, would we?”

Alexa smirked triumphantly.

“You are pregnant.” Blaire’s jaw slackened. “Is it Liam’s?”

Alexa’s hand smoothed her stomach. “You hate it, don’t you?”

“I hate you,” Blaire countered. “It should have been me.”

“I tried to tell you.” Alexa feigned sympathy. “Your obsession with my husband is concerning. He was good to you. He saved you from evil and put a roof over your head. He allowed you to become an active member of the syndicate. You are an ungrateful bitch. You ruined his life out of sheer jealousy. How can you claim to love the man, then throw him to the wolves?”

“I protected him.” Her chin elevated. “He will see it now that you are out of the picture.”

Alexa gave the woman an almost imperceptible head shake. She knew there was no reasoning with someone as unhinged as Blaire—Jessica Pearce—so, rather than play the game, she turned to Vincent and held a low-toned conversation.

“You will sleep down here tonight.” I did not pretend to understand Blaire’s logic. “Tomorrow, I will transfer you to one of the guest bedrooms with an assigned guard. The moment you give birth, I will hand Alexa your child.”

Warren’s wife going anywhere near the baby made Blaire sick with fury. She sprung back as if I’d slapped her. “No—”

“I will kill you,” I promised, and she wore an expression of implacable vexation. “I don’t know what’s in store for the kid, though.”

“I can take care of the unwanted baby,” Vincent played along. “Fret not, Jessica. It will be a quick, painless death.”

Blaire’s eyes flickered to the door. “Where is Nathaniel?”

“You lost his vote when you stabbed Liam in the back.” Mental torment honed Alexa’s angry features. “He will not save you this time.”

“There is no hope for you.” My arm draped over her shoulders as I led her toward the single bed. “But I might spare the baby if you do something for me.”

“Yeah?” Blaire snickered in amusement. “As if I would do anything for you.”

“You will do a video recording to vindicate Warren’s name and reputation.” I thrust her onto the bed, and the cheap springs creaked under her weight. “You will tell the world that you lied in the court of law. You falsely accused Warren of rape.”

“I did.” She chewed her fingernail. “Nobody will believe this nonsense, even if I agree to do the video. It is obvious I am distressed and held against my will.”

Vincent snarled in disdain. “You are an Oscar-worthy actress. I have faith in your efforts.”

I handcuffed Blaire to the metal headboard. “I need an answer by tomorrow.”

Her brow curved. “And If I say no?”

“Fuck the baby,” I said with a blissful smile. “I will strangle you and feed your dismembered body to the fishes.”

Her smugness vanished.

“You should have known better.” My voice was low and threatening. “Welcome back to the underworld.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Emma

I was luxuriating in the shower, the temperature perfectly warm, when a shot of ice-cold water happened. I don’t know what’s worse: Feeling as though someone had thrown you into The Arctic Ocean or hellacious rivers of molten lava. I am often minding my own business when the showerhead decides to run too hot or too cold. I am never prepared for the fluctuating temperature. It has the worst timing, too. I could be in the middle of shaving my legs or washing my hair when the pressure valves open and close. If someone, namely Ben, turns on the kitchen tap or powers the dishwasher, I pay the price.

A panicked scream strained my lungs.

Throwing myself to the right to dodge the frigid blast, I blindly reached for the push-button and, slipping on water and suds, fell backwards. Hell, I took the leaf-patterned curtain with me. Each chrome hook snapped, piece by piece, as my body stumbled out of the bath.

I lay on the cold floor sheathed in plastic and skin prickled exasperation.

A knock on the door.

I don’t even resist the urge to snap at him. “Go away.”

“Em?” Ben opened the door slightly but stayed in the hallway. “Are you okay?”

“Every morning.” I glared at the spiked ceiling. “I don’t understand why you cannot hang back for twenty minutes. It’s like you wait for me to shower, then turn on every tap in the damn flat. It drives me insane.”

He winced in regret. “I thought you were in bed.”

No, brother. I wake up at six a.m. to shower and drink coffee before Carter rouses.

My son is hyperactive the second his eyes open. He can stay up late and sleep the bare minimum and still find the energy to bounce off every wall in the flat.

I am the complete opposite. I am grouchy, irritable and dreaming of slumber all day if sleep-deprived. Therefore, a good night’s sleep, shower and coffee are necessary before the morning madness ensues.

“I broke the shower rail.” It hung precariously from the ceiling. “I tore the curtain.” I loved the bargain bought leaf curtain, too. “And I might have a mild concussion.”

“I can fix the rail.” Ben laughed to make light of the situation. “You can buy a new shower curtain. It’s no big deal.”

Rolling onto my stomach, I held the curtain tight to my body, stood on unsteady legs and swung the door open fully.

Ben is attired for the day, denim jeans, a white T-shirt and old tan boots. He looked exhausted. He is paler than usual, and his hair is in dire need of a barber visit.

His pallidness stirred concern.

My brother used to be a talker, especially if something bothered him. Nowadays, he is reserved and withdrawn unless it concerns the people he loves. His standoffishness made me realise that I have been too wrapped up in myself to notice until now.

I turned off the shower. “What time did you go to bed last night?”

“Carter went down around eight.” He unwrapped the plastic carrier bag on my arm, examining the replacement cast. “I stayed up late to calculate overhead costs.”

My eyes cut to the floor. “Why?”

He hurled the crushed carrier bag into the bin. “The cafe is not making enough profit. At this rate, I can barely afford fixed costs. I have already cut back on wholesalers and alcohol suppliers. I lost two commercial ovens last week that I cannot replace. Have you noticed the decrease in glassware? Cutlery? Forget pasta and rice bowls. We are down to thirty-eight plates. I never thought I’d say this, but I am glad regulars traded this dump for the new restaurant down the street. It’s not like I can provide great customer service or a decent fucking dish.”

Coldwater trickled down the nape of my neck in beads.

“We have a huge budget problem.” He looked soul-destroyed. “Who do I let go?”

Ben must be desperate to consider staff dismissal.

“I need the chefs,” he said, and I agreed. “Do you think the girls would consider a salary reduction?”

No one agrees to an incline in earnings.

The employees loved Ben and worked hard for the minimum wage, but ultimately, they had bills to pay, rent to sustain and lives to lead. If he slashed their pay, they’d hand in their notice and seek employment elsewhere.

I considered the staff.

Ethan and Wyatt.

Quinn and Stephanie.

We could lose our part-timers, Zoe and Aleksandra.

I received some financial support from the government to help with Carter. It’s not much, but it’s enough to survive.

“I can work without a wage,” I said, and he shook his head in disagreement. “I am your sister. I am here to help you, not exhaust you.”

Ben followed me down the hallway. “You are not working without a wage.”

“What choice do we have?” Pausing by the bedroom door, I fisted the shower curtain, the plastic material sticking to my skin. “Zoe is a student. Aleksandra is due to leave in four months, anyway. You can afford to lose them. Just explain that it’s not due to their personal job performance, but it’s what the cafe needs. In regard to moi,” I motioned to myself, “I live here rent-free and eat the best damn meals in the whole of London.” My shoulders swayed from side to side. “When Benjamin Hughes is awarded Michelin stars, I will be standing on the sideline saying, ‘that’s my brother y’all.’”

“That is the most cringe-worthy thing you have ever said.” Still, he smiled at the ego boost. “I am a stellar cook, though.”

I nodded with a proud smile.

Ben found his niche in the culinary world. His cooking skills, for all intents and purposes, are wasted in a place like the cafe, not to mention undervalued. It is sad to see such talent go to waste. He belonged in five-star restaurants with top tier chefs. His truffle mac and cheese is to die for, but he’d never serve it here or any other signature dish, for that matter. He saves specialities for late-night tasting sessions, and I am his biggest advocate and gastronome.

“I mean, it would only be temporary. I can start paying you again once everything picks up.” He gave me a tense nod. “All right. I will speak to the girls later. Are you sure this won’t be a problem?”

I gave him a fist-bump. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

“You are my favourite sister.” His eyes scanned my face. “In fact, I think you might be the best sibling.”

“That was the worst compliment you could have given me.” I shook the madness from my head. “You hate our siblings.”

“Which reminds me.” His eyes were alert and cautious. “Martin is getting married.”

Martin is our older brother. “So?”

His head lowered as he rolled an imaginary pebble under his boot. “So, he invited us to the wedding.”

“What? When? How?” Question after question waded to the forefront of my mind. “And why am I only just hearing about this? Does he know our address? Did he post the invite personally?”

“Martin called.” His palms rubbed up and down his face anxiously. “It’s my fault. I texted him the other week, and he followed up. I had a drink and felt all sentimental. Anyway, he was happy to hear from me. He asked about you and Carter and told me about his fiancé and the wedding plans.” He searched for understanding in my eyes. “I’m sorry, Em. It’s just…I miss him sometimes.”

Buried guilt crept in. Ben was close to our brothers before our parents kicked me out of the house. “What about the others?”

“He has contacted everyone.” The destroyed look in his eyes evoked painful memories. “I think he is hoping for a family reunion. It might be fun. Even Mary accepted an invite.”

I would love nothing more than to see my big sister. “Really?”

He nodded.

I am surprised that Mary agreed to attend the wedding, though. I hated our father, but she abhorred the man for a good reason. “Will dad be there?”

His smile was apologetic.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

How did our father’s name even land on the guestlist? Surely, he hasn’t received a personality transplant in the last ten years. I bet he is still dishonest, spiteful, arrogant, abusive, judgemental, hypocritical, egocentric, sanctimonious misogynistic, bigoted, homophobic. Hell, the list is highly reprehensible and downright embarrassing. I hate that we are related. I do not want to be associated with such a vile, disgraceful excuse of a man. And Martin? He is a coward, nothing more, nothing less. Even after all these years, he is trapped in our father’s clutches. I wish I could slap some sense into him.

“I will think about it,” I said, and Ben sighed a deep breath of disappointment. “Hey, you should attend the wedding regardless. Do not hold back on my account. I will still be here when you get back.”

“We are a package deal.” He gestured between us, then to Carter’s bedroom door. “And where poppa Hughes is concerned? If he even looked at you or Carter the wrong way, I’d send his arse straight over the fucking wall, right after telling our mother about his crack-brained mistress.”

I should not laugh, but the image of our father picking himself up off the floor, shame-faced and emasculated, gives me pleasure.

“Do you honestly think our mother is none the wiser?” I remembered her despair as she looked out of the kitchen window, watching our father sneak into the neighbour’s house instead of walking to the shop to buy groceries. “She turned a blind eye. You know that, right?”

Ben studied me for a moment.

“Can I eat pancakes?” Carter’s voice came from the bedroom doorway. “I dreamt about fluffy pancakes and whipped cream.” His hair stuck out in all directions, and his eyes, pinched to adjust to the bright light, coasted the length of the shower curtain. “What did you do this time? Uncle Ben, I think you were right. Mum is having a midlife crisis.”

I rolled my eyes and slammed the bedroom door behind me.

***

Quinn texted at midday and asked if she could steal my son for a couple of hours. It is her day off, and the new marvel movie out in the cinema ticked all the right boxes: popcorn, slushies, sweets and hot dogs, followed by a trip to Nando’s.

Carter is so excited. He even changed into a Captain America costume. He sits by the table closest to the cash register, playing on the tablet. Pancakes were a miss, so I placed a mug of lukewarm hot chocolate next to buttered toast on the coaster.

The cafe is dead. Omitting the three males tucking into cooked breakfast by the window and the older woman staring into a mug of tea, I have tended to no one all morning.

My phone vibrated.

Whipping it out of my pocket, I clicked on the green and white message app and bellied disappointment.

An email notification.

No text from Big Guy.

I pondered messaging him first, then decided against it. If he wanted to speak to me, he’d reach out.

Am I disappointed? Yes.

Am I surprised? No.

I stepped behind the counter.

Steph flicked long blond hair over one shoulder, which almost cost me an eye, and tapped someone’s order into the cash register.

“Emma,” she said, her subduedness telling me to run in the opposite direction. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.” Pouring coffee into a ceramic mug, I stirred in two spoons of sugar and sipped. “What’s up?”

“It’s about your brother.” Her face tucked down with a demure smile. “I don’t know if he has told you about us…” There was a pause for me to fill in the gap. “Well, it’s just, we have dated for a while, and everything was going really well…”

“Stephanie.” My eyes clamped shut. “I have no business in my brother’s state of affairs. Yes, I am aware that you sneak into the flat most nights for a sleepover. Ben and I have boundaries, though.”

“But you are close.” She looked down at her feet. “You talk about everything.”

“In moderation,” I clarified. “We have no interest in each other’s sex lives. What goes on in his bedroom? Yeah, I’d rather shove two fingers down my throat.”

“It’s not about sex,” she choked out. “The sex is great, though. His stamina is unbelieve. He is incredibly giving and well-endowed and…” Her mouth stuttered upon perceiving the sickening horror in my eyes. “I think he might be cheating on me.”

My brother is not like that. “I thought it was not an emotional-based relationship. It is casual, which means you can have make-out sessions with other people.”

“I am invested.” She shot me a scowl. “If he is sleeping with other women, I deserve to know about it.”

Not wanting any part of this conversation, I watched Carter dip toast into the hot chocolate. “You should speak to Ben.”

Her nose creased in disgust. “That would make me a stage five clinger.”

“What do you want me to say?” My hands threw up in the air. “I am his sister, Stephanie. Even if he is sleeping with someone else, I can only advise him to do the right thing. I will not throw him under the bus, especially when I have yet to hear his side of the story.”

“Wow.” She scoffed loudly. “It is nice to know that you condone his behaviour.”

“That’s not what I meant…” My words fell on deaf ears; she was already on the other side of the counter. “You are wrong to make me feel shitty.”

She flung me a scathing glare. “Fuck you, Emma.”

“Hey!” Carter stood abruptly, the hot chocolate mug falling off the table and scattering across the floor in ceramic shards. “Don’t shout at my mum!”

Stephanie wired her trap shut for Carter’s sake.

“It’s okay.” My intense glare homed in on the wench as I strode to my son’s side. “Stephanie is a little upset, that’s all.” His arms enveloped my waist protectively as I pulled him to my side. “Know your audience.”

Her lip curled at the corner.

“Uncle Ben should fire you.” Carter sounded strong, but he was on the brink of tears. “You don’t even work that hard.”

“What happened?” Quinn, holding multiple carrier bags, appeared from nowhere, stepping over the mess on the floor. “I take one day off, and all hell breaks loose.”

Carter’s arms tightened, squeezing the life out of me. “She yelled at my mum.”

Quinn’s face was murderous. “What?”

“I never raised my voice.” Steph’s eyes grew huge. “He is melodramatic.”

“Do not confuse my son’s upset with melodrama.” My furiousness soared. “He has every right to be sad. You snapped at his mother in front of him.”

“You know what?” Steph unknotted the green apron and tossed it on a nearby table. “I quit.”

I bet she is back before the end of the day.

“Oh?” Quinn had never looked so delighted. “Well, don’t let the door hit you on the way out.” Her hand touched Carter’s shoulder. “Forget her. I did something wicked.”

Carter glanced at the bags in her hand. “What did you do?”

“I went to Kingdom of Sweets and bought one of everything. Not literally.” She emptied a mixture of Twinkies, Nerds, Jolly Rancher Gummies, Hershey’s Kisses and Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups landed on the table. “You wanted to try Calypso’s Ocean Blue Lemonade, right?”

Quinn’s thoughtfulness warmed my chest. Carter’s had his sights on the American store for months. I am not surprised by her kind consideration. She loves him and made an effort to put a smile on his face.

He grabbed the bottle. “Holy shit—”

“Language,” I scolded, and he apologised. “Quinn, how will you sneak all that into the cinema?”

“Have you met me?” She unzipped a newly purchased backpack. “I’ll hide everything in here, and Carter can sneak inside whilst I pay for the tickets.”

“That would make him an accomplice.”

Her pearly white teeth flashed.

***

Stephanie is in Ben’s bedroom later on that night. Usually, I hid in the bathroom or listened to music in bed when she visited, but after today’s childish outburst, I had to creep across the hall and put an ear to the closed door.

Ben said: “My sister had to cover the till and the floor by herself. How is that fair?”

Steph replied: “Your sister humiliated me in front of the customers.”

“You must have riled her up.”

“Oh, so it’s my fault. It’s not like she behaved like a bitch or anything.”

My jaw hit the floor.

“Emma is not a bitch.” His angry footsteps came to a halt. “You know what? I’ll call her in and iron this shit out right now.”

“Right, let’s all sit together and play happy families.”

“How else do I resolve the argument?”

“You will only defend her. That’s how things operate around here. She will cry and make you feel sorry for her, and then I will be made to look like the villain.”

What is this girl smoking?

“Help me to understand. You asked her a question, and she flipped out, right? What did you ask? Maybe I can explain her outburst without her involvement.”

Sounds good to me.

Ben believed in twin telepathy. If she is honest, how I reacted today will be an afterthought. He will lose his shit because she had no right to interrogate me and spit her dummy out when I refused to partake in her manifested insecurities. But if she lies, he will see right through it. He knows me like the back of his hand. I might not be everyone’s favourite person, but I am not a horrible, malicious person. I bite back. That’s the difference.

I returned to the bedroom.

My phone screen brightened on the bed.

Quinn: Carter loved the movie.

Quinn: We are stopping for Nando’s.

Quinn: He wants to sleep at my place. I have spare clothes from the last time he stayed. What do you think?

I typed out a response.

Me: Are you sure? It’s your first day off in weeks.

Message read.

Quinn: Of course, I am sure. Carter is the closest thing I have to a nephew. An only child, remember?

Quinn: Unless you wanted him to come home? I don’t mind either way.

Quinn: But I’d love for him to stay.

Me: Okay, that’s fine. Tell him to call me before bed so that I can say goodnight.

Quinn: ILY!

Me: I love you, too.

An erotic moan drifted down the hall.

My cheeks puffed out in repulsion.

Collapsing on the chair, I yanked the fluffy throw blanket over my head.

This is not how I planned to spend the evening.

Hearing female groans of pleasure is enough to drive me over a cliff. Ben is an entirely different story, though. His sexual gratification surged vomit to my throat. I wanted to shove pins in my ears to unhear it.

And then, the headboard thumped the wall.

My head lurched from under the blanket.

I texted Ben.

Me: Put a damn sock in your mouth!

Tucking the phone in my back pocket, I pulled on a coat and a bobble hat. With the camera strapped across my chest, I slipped on white trainers, grabbed the car key and headed outside.

I took deep breaths of cold wind as I rushed down the alleyway, the streetlights sluicing on the gutters. Fine droplets of rain splattered my face, the gentle breeze rustling through my hair as I respired a wisp of mist that disappeared in the wet, windy night.

Picking up the pace, I reached the car, almost unlocked it, when a set of heavy footsteps, served with an eerie beat, drew my attention.

Peering from one end of the alley to the other, I stepped back from the car, listening hard. “Hello?” My foot dipped into a puddle. “Shit.”

Shaking water out of my trainer, I placed a hand on the car window and unlocked the door when the hollow echoes of footsteps returned.

Rain whispering through buildings, I searched the alley once more, left to right, one dark alcove to another, when someone’s gloved hand slammed over my mouth.

The air felt like it had been sucked out of me.

He smelt like a blend of chemicals and masculine cologne.

Eyes popping wide, pulse racing through ice-cold veins, I reached up to pry at the man’s fingers, screams clogging in my throat when smooth lips grazed my ear. “Don’t fight,” he whispered, and a shiver of dread washed over me. “Come with me.

Whimpering in pain from the tight grip to my mouth, I bucked in his strong, inescapable arms. “Please,” I mumbled, and as a tear rolled from the corner of my eye, his tongue flattened on my cheek, and he licked it away. “I—”

His one arm tightened around my waist. “Is Benjamin home?”

My head shook vehemently.

“Liar,” he rasped, the humour in his tone of voice rattling every bone in my body. “We need to talk.”

When his hand on my mouth lowered, I screamed, loud and piercing, but the doused cloth to my lips silenced me within seconds.

With all-consuming trepidation, I elbowed him in the ribs, which gave me a small window to slip out of his hold. Knees crashing to the ground, I tried to push onto my feet, but my legs would not cooperate.

He never moved. He knew that I would not get far.

My body slumped forward, landing on the wet floor in lethargic defeat. A tingling sensation trembled through my limbs. Licking my sweet-tasting lips, feeling a sharp jolt of fear in my gut, I watched him crouch before me. He wore a black balaclava to conceal his identity, but I would recognise those eyes anywhere.

His gloved hand stroked my head.

My half-lidded eyes drifted into unconsciousness.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Emma

I awakened in an elegant, ornate gold bed flanked by opulent light stands, creme textile upholstery with gilded fittings, seamless baroque wallpaper and floor-to-ceiling damask curtains. I did not recognise the spacious room or the majestic layout, but something about the wall construction and suspended ceiling felt familiar.

Hearing indistinct conversations and rhythmic music outside, I threw the heavyweight duvet to the side. Light-headedness was the result of onrush. Weak at the knees, I managed three steps before the sudden spell of nauseating dizziness threw me off balance.

It hit me as I crashed into the mirrored vanity table, the reality of truth. He took me, the masked man. He came up behind me, licked my tears away and held some chemically-infused cloth over my mouth.

My blood froze over.

Him.

I am here, in this unknown place, with Him.

Exhaling in a rush, I hunted the room to find the phone and camera, uncovering nothing but unopened cosmetics in the drawer space and extra bed linen in the wardrobe.

My breathing evened out.

Turning off the two lamps, cloaking the room in complete darkness, I crept to the door, hand hesitating above the brass handle, then cracked it ajar.

I peered down the long, brightly lit hallway. With well-practised cautiousness and mental alertness, I opened the door fully, one inch at a time, and exited the room.

Heart shivering in my throat, I never moved a muscle for a solid three minutes. I listened to nearby sounds, the bathroom’s dripping tap, the low thrum of the aircon, the ominous shrill of vicious dogs barking in the distance.

My thoughts settled.

Fingernails denting the palm of my hand, I drifted to the heart of the home, the impressive, well-fitted kitchen with integrated appliances adjacent to an oak-toned, open plan living room, the licking flames radiating from the slate fireplace, hot to my cold cheeks.

My camera sat on the dining table, but there was no sign of the phone.

Ever so carefully, I went to the Venetian blind, tilting one horizontal slat, and peeped through the window. It was pitch black outside, except for the full moon above and the burning campfire in the distance.

Strapping the camera across my chest, I almost unlatched the patio doors to escape when male voices neared.

My gaze locked on the moving handle as keys clanked.

Falling to my knees, I crawled across the deep pile carpet and slithered under the ivory-coloured chair, the cabriole legs with intricately handcrafted wood carvings and gold leaves overcomplicating stealthy movements.

Beneath the six-seater table, I sat straight, knees to chest, blood pumping in my ears.

The double doors slid open.

I did not breathe a sound.

Brown combat boots entered first. “How long will ye be stayin’?”

“I don’t yet.” Black lace-up boots followed. “In and out, I hope.”

With a tilted head, I watched their long strides eat up the space as they paced back and forth, the floor groaning beneath each footstep.

Bottles clanked.

A door closed.

“I saw ye with Sage.” The man in brown combats had shoulder-length blond hair and wore a brown leather stockman hat. “Unfinished business?”

“Ye startin’ rumours, Silas?” When he spoke, I shuddered with dread. “I am not here for Sage.”

There was a pause. “Does she know that?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Another pause. “I am with Sheila now.”

My heart sank to new depths.

Sheila Ayres? No, that’s not right, is it?

I guess a lot can change in a few years.

They sat on opposite sofas, facing each other, bottles in hand, and discussed trivial subjects for a good half an hour (the weather, some garage party, sex and drugs, rugby and boxing), and I digested every word for an unfathomable reason.

“Ye should come back.” His voice taunted my innermost anxieties; I wanted out of his proximity. “It ain’t the same without ye.”

“Why?” Silas’ legs kicked out as he relaxed. “I live in the private world of London’s traveller community. I love it here.”

My heart thumped.

London’s traveller community.

You don’t need to be a traveller to know the location. For outsiders, Westway is a convoluted expanse of an eight-lane dual carriageway upsurging west London. But Stable Way, near Latimer Road in the borough of Kensington and Chelsea, is the permanent home to close-knit Irish gypsies.

Uncherished memories and buried trepidations resurfaced.

Arms folding on raised knees, I lowered my head to shield my vision. I’d rather close my eyes and wander through darkness than endure the illuminated faces of unrighteous men or even consider the world outside of this caravan.

“It’s decent here.” His inked fingers splayed on his bobbing knee. “Home is home, though.”

“I ain’t goin’ back.” Silas’ tongue clicked in tune with the background music. “Look at what he did to my face? He slashed me from ear to ear—and for what? Ye don’t grab our youn’ traveller girls or threaten them with violence.” His anger flared. “King my fuckin’ arse. He is a bully, and ye know it.”

“Quintin is not a problem anymore,” he assured, but the other man scoffed. “He is in prison, Silas.”

“Until he is not.” When Silas hunched forward, I eyed the deep, visible scar on his pale face. “He will come back, and ye arse will be in the gutter.”

“I am not a defenceless little boy anymore. I am a man now. If Quintin comes within twenty miles of our site, upsettin’ my mother, I’ll kneecap the bastard. Besides, I am king now. Everyone bows to me, not him.”

I listened in stunned silence.

Silas grabbed another beer from the fridge. “Did ye find the girl?”

“Yeah.” His familiar voice husked. “I apologise for tunin’ up without an invite, but I appreciate the hospitality. Although, the bed is shite. Ye need an upgrade.”

“I will upgrade the furniture once ye come back with a different fuckin’ attitude.” The other man chuckled. “Do ye need anythin’ before I turn in for the night?”

“No.” He sounded like a man on the edge. “I will come outside in the mornin’ for breakfast.”

“Bacon all round.” Silas hurled an empty beer bottle in the bin. “Go to Ginny’s, though. It is her turn to cook.”

His footsteps came to an end once the patio doors reseal.

Heart fluttering in my chest, I peeked from under the table and found stormy eyes, framed in dark lashes, staring back at me.

I gulped.

He leaned forward to place the empty beer bottle on the coffee table. “Ye can come out now.”

Tommy O’Shea.

My only love.

My biggest regret.

“It’s wonderful to see you.” I laughed with contempt. “Drugging and kidnapping a woman is extremely unnecessary and downright psychotic. You could have knocked on my door like a normal person.”

He scratched his jaw with tattooed fingers. “Get out from under the table.”

I’d rather not. “No.”

“Fine.” He brandished my phone. “I will give Benjamin a call.”

Of course, he’d involve my brother. “You are a first-class cunt.”

His pierced eyebrow jumped in surprise.

“Why?” Against my better judgement, I crawled out from beneath the table and stood. “You, the O’Shea family and the rest of your community always target my brother. He did nothing wrong. His only mistake was protecting his sister. Yet, you punish him just to get to me. You don’t have to do that.” Tears burnt the back of my eyes. “You want to hurt me? Fine. Do your worst. But leave him alone. He has suffered enough.”

His face was incandescent with rage. “At least, Benjamin lives to talk about sufferin’. Killian lies cold in the dirt!” He jumped to his feet, his body tense and intimidating. “Why should I feel sorry for your brother when ye put mine in the fuckin’ ground?”

A lone tear slid down my cheek and landed on the carpet.

“Ye reached out, then blocked my number.” Towering above me, he tapped the phone on his palm. “That’s why I am here.”

I wiped my cheek. “Jace is still a lick arse, I see.”

“Jace?” His lips twisted in confusion. “What’s he got to do with any of this?”

Mouth agape, I tapered down befuddlement and looked away. I assumed Jace had called Tommy and told him my location. “How did you find me?”

“I tracked your phone number.” He stuffed my phone in his jeans pocket. “Don’t be weird, Emma. Take a seat.”

I pulled out a chair with wary reluctance and fell onto the cushioned seat by the table.

Tommy uncapped two beer bottles with his teeth and slid one into my possession. He took a swig of liquid courage and slumped onto the chair opposite me.

That’s how it started.

He glared.

I glared.

Finger taps and awkward silence.

Tommy broke first. “I hate everythin’ about ye.”

I remember a time when he’d fallen in love with me.

And I was head over heels in love with him.

Although watchfully anxious and impossibly sad, I breathed with a degree of sangfroid. “The feeling is mutual.”

“Why?” He thumbed the small number tattoo on his sculpted cheekbone. “Why did ye do it, Emma? We were all so close. Ye ruined us with dishonesties and lies.”

My head shook. “I am not walking down memory lane.”

“Memory lane is exactly where we are headed.” He drew in a quick breath. “But first, I want a relationship with Carter.”

My son will not suffer because of warring families. “Be reasonable, Tommy. It will never work. You hate us. We hate you. Just imagine how our hatred will affect Carter. It would be unfair to drag him into never-ending hostilities.”

He mulled over protests for a few seconds. “Ye have no right to keep him from us.”

Ignoring his sheer existence, I picked the bottle’s label.

He pulled the white T-shirt over his head and tossed it on the chair.

My eyes toured the inked intricacies across his well-defined chest. He’d added so much work since the last time I saw him. Back when we were kids, he had few tattoos and fewer piercings. Not anymore. This man is a real-life Ragnar: grey eyes posing a threat, blond hair, shaved on the sides with a long, plaited ponytail down the back and the muscles of a Roman soldier.

I hate to admit that he’s never looked so good.

“Carter is my nephew.” His eyes roved over my face. “He is all I have left of Killian.”

Killian’s ghost is the elephant in the room. Hell, his name will forever be the catalyst of our problems. We can never agree to disagree or concede with a difference of opinions.

Tommy straightened the barbell in his right nipple and put his folded, muscular arms on the table, waiting patiently for me to respond.

I sat with mute indifference, studying the solid gold thick hoop earring with a single feather dangling from his left earlobe.

His fist slammed on the table, rattling the beer bottles. “For Christ’s sake, Emma!”

I flinched involuntarily. “What do you want me to say?”

“Something,” he snarled, and I sank back in the chair. “Say something.”

What is the point? Nothing I have to say will appease him.

“Take it back for me.” His thumb circled the top of the beer bottle. “If we find a way to move forward…” He regretted every word because reaching an agreement meant overlooking Killian’s death and, in the eyes of the traveller community, forgiving the enemy. “Shite.”

My mind wandered to the depths of despair. “You don’t want to hear what I have to say.”

His pained look turned into disdain. “I need to know why before I can make the others understand.”

Again, nothing I have to say will appease him or the gypsies. Instead, I studied the man in nostalgic musing. “I loved you,” I whispered, tracing the table’s gilded pattern. “I thought our love was irrevocable.”

His eyes, dark and penetrating, held mine. “What happened back then had nothin’ to do with us.”

“It had everything to do with us.” Fierceness sharpened my voice. “Did you know Killian was in love with me?”

“Yeah.” He shrugged one shoulder. “He told me. Yet, I still went there.”

I still went there.

He pursued the girl against his brother’s wishes.

“I never knew he felt that way about me.” My voice was a mere whisper. “Killian was my best friend. Looking back, I think he was my only friend.”

“And then, she turned against him.” He scowled under harshly gathered eyebrows. “Because of her, he became the recipient of blame and ostracism.”

“Because of him,” I corrected with fierce indignation, “I became the victim of unmerciful rape!”

“Stop lyin’!” His cold eyes spewed nefarious intentions. “My brother was not a fuckin’ rapist!”

This is why talking is pointless.

It was an unsolvable problem.

Tommy, Killian’s older brother, is dangerously protective. Not even death can change the pair’s dynamic duo. He will always be loyal to the person who shared his blood.

I am the one who ruined Killian’s reputation and drove him to suicide.

That’s what Tommy inwardly mantras as he shoots daggers at me from across the table.

“Rape is rape.” He was sickened by the sight of me, but his gaze never steered. “If I were to believe ye, what makes your misfortune any more unmerciful than others?”

“I do not claim to have suffered any more than other victims. Sexual assault is a crime, no matter the perpetrator, the victim or the degree of violation. Still, as a survivor, I am entitled to express the pain I endured. You will not silence me.”

He looked at me like I was unhinged, certifiable—unfamiliar.

I was on a roll. “You seem to think that I woke up one morning and, for no apparent reason, ruined someone’s life. Not just any Tom, Dick, and Harry. A friend. Someone I adored as if he were family. How does that even begin to make sense in your head, never mind aloud? You would not have looked sideways if you considered me dyspeptic and idiosyncratic. In the present, you find me most repulsive; however, in the past, you could not get enough of me.”

Tommy’s jaw clenched, but he denied nothing.

“I was a teenager. Do you truly believe I was capable of spinning so many vicious, defaming lies and for what purpose? What did I gain? Money? Compensation? Street credibility? Oh, that’s right. I was punished, physically and emotionally, by your entire family and their allies.” My eyes closed as I willed myself to be brave. “My family disowned me for out-of-wedlock pregnancy. I was denied an abortion because my parents believed in the sanctity of human life, even though conception was the result of sexual assault and, to add salt to the wound, I had to walk away from everything I knew and everyone I loved. I would not wish the pain I endured on my worst enemy.”

His teeth ground. “I am immune to your lies.”

I goaded him with challenging eyes. “If you believe I was, in fact, capable of such deceptions, how did someone as astute as yourself overlook the crazy psychotics within the girl who stole your heart?”

He laughed once. “Do not flatter yourself, Emma.”

“You can deny it all you want,” I said firmly. “But we both know the truth.”

“I know that ye lie to save face,” he fired back. “Admit it. Ye parents found out that their teenage daughter was out there havin’ unprotected sex. Ye bricked it. Ye told them the pregnancy was the result of rape because ye thought they’d have ye back and defend ye.”

“If that were true,” I whispered, the lump in my throat tightened, “I’d have told them about you.”

His eyes blackened.

“Why would I label Killian a rapist to save face?” I asked, and his cheeks hollowed. “I would have come for you if I wanted to ruin anyone’s life. After all, you were the easy target. You slept with a minor.”

Tommy drained the beer bottle. “Ye would threaten me with that.”

His disappointment tugged on my heartstrings. “No, I am simply saying there are other factors to consider. Do not focus on one detail. Just for five minutes, comprehend what it would be like to walk in my shoes. All these years, and still, I stand by the accusation. Would it not be easier for everyone, including myself, to take everything back? To admit that I lied about a guiltless young boy because I feared my parents’ reaction. I am not that teenage girl anymore. I don’t even have a relationship with my mum and dad. Their approval is irrelevant. I couldn’t care less if they forgave me or not.”

His eyes glittered with sadness.

“More to the point, I have a son,” I choked out. “He will be a man someday, and I would hate to think that some scorned, bitter woman would accuse him of something so horrific, especially if he is innocent.” I sipped beer to slake the dryness in my throat. “You hate me. You will always hate me because you need someone to blame for Killian’s death. And I am okay with that. But I will not clear his name and ruin mine for the cessation of hostilities. I must stand for what is right. He hurt me.” My lips wobbled. “He ripped out my heart and left it in the mud alongside my beaten body. Do you know what haunts me the most, though?”

His throat worked on a tight swallow.

“He never looked back,” I whispered, feeling a single tear slide down my cheek. “He just walked away and left me for dead.”

Tommy stood abruptly. “My brother was not a fuckin’ rapist!”

“You are wrong!” I lunged to my feet with abhorrence. “He walked me home that night and attacked me!”

He got in my face, his nose touching mine. “Your lies will be the death of you.”

“And your denial will be the ruination of you,” I said angrily, keeping a hand on his chest. “You want to go down memory lane? Good. Let’s walk it together. The following morning, I had a sexual assault forensic exam—a head-to-toe examination: mouth, vagina, blood samples, and urine. They put my torn clothes into an evidence bag and removed leaves from my hair.”

Teary-eyed, he shook his head.

“They collected his DNA,” I added, doing my utmost to reach the humane part of him. “We can go there right now. I can request the evidence and show you.”

He cupped his mouth.

Tommy’s guard was down, so I went for the jugular. “It was not stress that drove Killian to suicide. It was guilt. He hurt someone, got caught and did not want to face the consequences—”

“Why?” He squared up to me, and I backed up to the wall. “Why would he do that to you? He fuckin’ loved you!”

A sob ripped from my throat. “Because I was in love with you.”

Tommy was sickly pale. His hands, firm to my shoulders, lingered for ten seconds, then he moved me to the side and went to the fridge. Bottles clinked together as he searched for stronger liquor. He placed rum on the kitchen counter, fossicked the cupboards for a glass, and poured a dangerous amount of alcohol. One, two, three shots later, he wiped the moisture from his lips and, not making eye contact, met me halfway. “I am ready.”

“Ready?” I tugged the bracelets on my wrist. “For what?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Fixing the twisted chain around his neck, he rasped, “I am ready to hear your side of the story.”

Fresh tears filled my eyes. “Really?”

Head hanging low, he nodded.

I hope there is more rum because it is going to be a long night.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Emma

Life Before

I sat on the floor in my bedroom, the door cracked open, listening to arguments downstairs with acute attentiveness. Opposing views are perennial in the Hughes household lately. If my mother was not accusing my father of extramarital affairs, he blamed her for their disobedient children, and if the siblings were not bickering with each other, they were admonished by their parents for nothing of importance.

Take Miles, for example. He is in his bedroom with our brother, Martin, nursing a hangover subsequent to three hours of parental chastisement. He went to a college party last night and came home at the crack of dawn to find our father, chagrined with bared teeth, by the front door awaiting his return.

Poor Miles. Father hauled him indoors by the scruff and told him to recite the ten commandments in the throes of unforgivable punishments. Mother disenthralled her son once blood begrimed the floor, but it was too late. Miles had already suffered the wrath of our father’s fist.

It would not be the first time our father’s temper got the better of him, and his children, without fail, caught the tail end. From a very young age, I had learned to conform to the authoritarian ways of our household. It was easier and safer to nod when he spoke and jump to his demands.

Strictness precipitated secret rebelliousness, though.

Rules were made to be broken.

Father might throw his weight about and call the shots behind closed doors, but his children misbehave when his back is turned. We are all guilty of what he’d deem condemnable behaviour once freed from the tyrannical havoc within our home.

A floorboard creaked in the hallway.

My eyes jerked up.

Ben slipped into the bedroom, closed the door, and sat on the floor next to me. “I hate him,” he whispered, and I nodded in agreement. “Mile’s needs stitches. His eyebrow is split open, and blood is all over his T-shirt. I feel bad for him, Emma. I wish I were older, bigger and stronger.” His lips tickled my ear as he spoke softly for no one other than us to hear. “I’d kill him.”

My brother despised our father. He came to my room once a week to concoct a web of perplexing murder ideas. Last week, he suggested that we bury our father beneath the garden patio. He joked about pushing him down the stairs and locking him in the basement the week before. I take his crazy imagination with a pinch of salt. “Don’t say that,” I said, low and nervous. “He might hear you.”

Ben shrugged uncaringly.

“It’s hard enough to witness him hurt the others.” Capturing his hand, I laced our fingers together. “But it would break my heart to see him come for you.”

“Dad’s aggression is unavoidable.” His eyes, wide and alert, locked with mine. “We live with him. And it’s not like the house is big enough for everyone. I mean, I have to share a box room with two siblings for crying out loud. Do you know what it’s like to wake up with Martin’s smelly feet in your face every morning? Or Miles’ gammy morning breath in your ear?”

I had absolutely no desire to experience such evil-smelling ghastliness. “Gross.”

Father yelled downstairs, and our concerned eyes went to the closed door in unison.

“Emma?” Ben whispered again. “I think you should stay away from Killian.”

Well, that was random. “Why? Killian is my friend.”

“But if dad finds out about him…” He looked most worrisome. “A busted eyebrow will be the least of your worries.”

I know he is right. I am not allowed to hang around with boys, specifically impish, traveller boys. “What about you?”

He tried to smile. “What about me?”

“Your little friend down the street,” I teased, and his eyes rolled. “I know something is going on between you two.”

Chewing his thumbnail, he shifted closer. “I can trust you, right?”

My pinkie finger raised. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

“Okay.” His little finger curled around mine. “I lost my virginity last night.”

“What?” My chin hit the deck. “You had sex—”

“Shh.” His hand slammed over my mouth. “Our brothers are next door.”

I peeled his palm down from my mouth. “They would never snitch on you.”

“To get in dad’s good books?” He gave me a knowing look. “Yeah, they would totally sail my arse down the river.”

I understood Ben’s concerns. I love my sister, Mary, but she would often involve her siblings in squabbles to divert our father’s outrage. The last time she lived under this roof, which seemed like a lifetime ago, she told our parents that Martin dealt drugs for no reason whatsoever, and father’s rising furiousness switched gears. Martin’s beratement gave Mary the chance to slip away. She locked our bedroom door, packed two bags, opened the window, descended the trellis and never looked back.

I haven’t seen her since.

Ben flicked my chin. “What’s that look?”

“I was thinking about Mary,” I admitted, and he pulled a disgruntled face. “Do you not wonder if she is safe? Happy? Living her best life?”

“I never give her any consideration.” He rubbed his jaw. “I bet she is fine, though. Any life is better than this one, right?”

“I know why he was upset that night. Dad, I mean. A guy at the church approached him. And he was so, so angry after their conversation. I am talking, red-faced, spitting feathers, screaming blue murder all the way home.”

“When did this happen?” He squeezed the nape of his neck. “And how did I miss it?”

“You drove home in mum’s car with the boys. I was stuck with dad. Anyway, he kept calling Mary, but she never answered the phone. In the end, he left her a voicemail. It was short but deadly. He knew about her relationship with Patty.”

“Patricia?” He simply stared at me. “I don’t understand. They are friends. Why would dad have an issue?” Then it hit him like a massive sledgehammer. “No, shit? Mary’s gay?”

I nodded.

“Wow.” He gawked, open-mouthed and shell-shocked. “I suspected nothing.”

“Why would you?” I laughed, light and blithe. “It’s not as though Mary could embrace her sexuality whilst living here. Dad struggles with same-gender attraction in others, never mind his children. He’d never accept it. In his eyes, Mary is to marry a fine young man and breed plenty of Mormon children.”

Ben’s teeth flashed in amusement. “He is wired wrong.”

Yes, I happen to agree. “If I ever have children, I will take them far, far away from here. He will not sink his claws into them or poison their minds with his religious beliefs.” Giving my brother’s hand a tight squeeze, I stood and glanced at the wall-mounted mirror to fix my hair. “They will be free to make choices and live to their full potential.”

Ornaments shattered downstairs.

I sighed at the toxicity that is our surroundings. “Shall we run away?”

Ben gave me a sad smile. “Maybe someday.”

***

I earned money by helping with household chores and then trekked to the pier to meet with Killian. He was inside the seafront’s amusement arcade with friends, playing on the cacophonous penny machines. I had met his small group once or twice, but their evident disapproval made socialising burdensome. I’d be lucky if they said two words to me. In fact, If it were not for Killian, I would not be welcomed on their evening adventures.

“Took ye lon’ enough.” Killian peeled away from his watchful friends and led me to the ticket machine. “Do ye want a drink?” He motioned to the blue, raspberry flavoured slush puppie clenched between his rigid fingers. “I snuck some vodka in there.”

I declined alcohol.

“Ye look nice.” His arm threw over my shoulders as we meandered through machines, the flashing lights sprinkling all around us like kaleidoscope stars. “New jumper?”

No, the burgundy jumper belonged to Mary. I swiped it from her wardrobe earlier. The jeans are new, though. “Are we staying here all night?”

“A few hours.” He flipped the stark white ball cap backwards. “Might grab a bite to eat later.”

I felt like a hanger-on for the first half of the night. Still, I did the utmost to converse with his friends, got my arse whooped at air hockey and won myself a stuffed animal, which I left by the vending machine for some kid to nab.

Killian is preoccupied with Trinity, the beautiful traveller girl who lived at the site. I stood there like a third wheel whilst they exchanged saliva. Hell, I had no useful purpose. I slipped away to find something to do. I am sure Killian will come and look for me when he is ready to leave.

I stopped by Alien Invasion.

Pushing two-pound coins in the slot, I selected beginner mode and lifted the plastic gun. Pointing the green symbol at the game, I waited for ominous music to play and readied myself for defeat. Two steel doors parted on the widescreen, revealing the planet’s eerie apocalypse. Two space aliens fell from the dark, cloudy sky and attacked me within seconds.

My eyes slammed shut.

I shot blindly to the sound of side-shattering screams.

The gun vibrated.

Wipeout.

My person lay flat on the ground in a pool of blood.

“How can ye kill anythin’ with ye eyes closed,” someone husked in my ear, and I bristled in response. “That was an embarrassin’ suicide mission.”

Tommy appeared by my side. He wore an unzipped leather jacket over his white T-shirt, faded denim jeans and black lace-up boots.

My heart responded to the sight of him. “I am a girl.”

“That’s no excuse,” he drawled, and heat soared to my cheeks. “A good lass can fire a gun like the best of ’em.” When I remained close-lipped, he fished out two-pound coins from his pocket and slid them into the slot. “Try again.”

I will not embarrass myself twice.

“I can help ye.” Tommy came behind me. Strong hands covering mine, he raised the gun to the screen. “Relax,” he rasped, the scent of his leather and sandalwood cologne emitting between us. “Keep your eyes open this time.”

Two steel doors parted on the widescreen.

My head sinking into my shoulders in defence, I prepared for the extraterrestrial beings to fall from the sky. Of course, the second something purple and slimy shot out in front of the green target, I panicked, but Tommy manoeuvred the gun to slay the human-eating opposition.

Fifteen seconds later, the robotic voice declared another Wipeout.

I died.

“That was painful,” he joked, and I blew out a long breath. “Maybe ye need more practice.”

I returned the gun. “Or maybe, I should stick to the penny machine.”

“Or that.” He bit his bottom lip. “Ye here by yourself?”

“No, I am with Killian,” I said, and his smile dropped. “He is playing video games. I think I am cramping his style.”

Tommy hummed. “What makes ye think that?”

“I don’t know. It’s just different when the others are around. He is different,” I corrected with an awkward stutter. “Are Irish travellers, like, insular?”

He mulled over the question. “Some are traditional in their views.”

I needed more than that.

“Yes,” he answered the question correctly. “At least, where I come from, ye don’t associate with outsiders. Killian could never marry someone outside of the community if that’s what ye thinkin’.”

“What? No, I never meant marriage or even dating.” Moving to the next gaming machine, I fumbled with a strip of forgotten tickets. “I guess I feel some kind of disconnect when he’s with friends.”

“When the traveller girls are around?” he mused, and I nodded. “Don’t take it personally. He likes ye. He bloody talks about ye enough.”

I smiled at that.

“I understand traditions,” I said after a beat. “My father insists that I strive for a temple wedding. It has to be eternal marriage because, well, ‘until death do us part’ is nowhere near enough. And before I tie the knot, I must attend a private interview with our local bishop to assure him that I follow specific precepts.”

Tommy’s round eyes elevated knitted eyebrows. “What are the guidelines?”

“I have to be free of alcohol, coffee, tobacco and tea, which I will fail because I love sweet tea.” Tugging the sleeves of my jumper, I folded my arms to prevent fidgeting. “And I am to be chaste.”

“Chaste,” he said, testing the word on his tongue. “As in no sex before marriage?”

I nodded.

“Our fathers are more alike than I thought.” His lips pursed as he rocked back on the heels of his boots. “Is this why Mary did the moonlight flit?”

I felt a pinch in my chest. “Mary is ambitious.”

He followed me down the next aisle. “And ye?”

Someday, I will be brave like my sister and leave this place before my father can tie me down. “I aspire to do more—to be more—but when the time is right.”

He stepped out in front of me, and I halted on the spot. His smouldering greys lazily toured the length of my body, and I began to tremble with nerves.

Lips parting to speak, he chose silence, his finger slipping a strand of hair behind my ear. “I was lookin’ for ye,” he said, and I frowned in confusion. “Found Killian’s Emma instead.”

Togged up in all-black attire, Jace came out of nowhere, tapping Tommy’s back. “We’re getting out of here.” His brows raised in greeting, but he did not speak to me directly. “I’ll drive.”

Tommy’s eyes were on me. “Let’s get out of here, then.”

When Tommy O’Shea’s shoulder brushed mine, I turned to watch him walk away. He joined the group by the arcade’s entrance, boys and girls, but he looked back and smiled before disappearing into the night.

Butterflies fluttered in my chest.

Am I crushing on my friend’s older brother?

***

Killian invited me to another social gathering. It took three trips to the ice cream parlour and excessive grovelling for me to relinquish. I loved sneaking out of the house to attend house parties with my friend, but he had the tendency to get drunk and forget about me within two hours, so I swore to myself that I’d never be his wing-woman again.

Alas, the boy’s puppy dog eyes won me over, eventually. I am currently at some weather-beaten barn in the middle of nowhere, caked in luminous paint, head pounding from the rave music and, lo and behold, Killian is nowhere to be seen.

I texted him.

Me: I am disowning you.

Tucking the Nokia in my back pocket, I sipped from a bottle of cherry flavoured alcopop, squirming through hordes of ravers and searched for the exit. I would not go home, not yet, but cool air might clear brain fog.

I sucked in the cold night air as I stepped outside. People gathered by parked vehicles to the left, so I beelined the low wall to my right. Backside balancing onto the cobbled blocks, the uneven shapes digging into the back of my thighs, I palmed the half-filled bottle and studied the stars above when Jace’s deep voice echoed from somewhere. He is standing by the crackling campfire with a young, pretty blonde girl. His head lowered to mouth something in her ear, and whatever he said earned him a huge, infectious smile.

“Lucy,” Tommy said, falling onto the wall beside me. “I think it’s love.”

Enthralled by his proximity, I watched the pair through fascinated eyes. “It’s definitely love.”

Tommy sparked a cigarette. “Ye sure?”

Well, Jace never looked elsewhere. “Unless I am just a hopeless romantic.”

Tommy grumbled something indecipherable. ”Where is Killian?”

The last time I saw Killian, he had his hand on some girl’s arse. ”He is still inside.”

“That prick is always leavin’ ye,” he said lightly. “Ye need a ride home?”

“No, I am good.” Home could wait for a few more hours. “I’d rather sit on this wall all night than face reality.”

My phone pinged.

I checked the message.

Killian: Where u at?

Me: Outside.

Killian: B there now.

Stuffing the phone in my pocket, I drained the rest of the bottle. “Your brother is coming.”

Jace held Lucy’s hand as he prowled toward us. “Emma.” He gave me a flat smile. “You keep turning up.”

Shit, I hope they don’t think I am following them.

“She’s with Killian.” Tommy slipped off the wall and landed on his feet. “Where ye goin’?”

“Just gonna drive Lucy home.” Chin resting on Lucy’s shoulder, Jace wrapped his arms around her waist. “I’ll catch up with you later.”

“Sure.” Tommy bumped Jace’s knuckles. “Ye should come and hang out with us more often, Luc.”

“Maybe.” She flung me a nervous yet friendly smile. “It was nice meeting you, Emma.”

“Likewise,” I called out as the loved-up pair drifted toward the old truck. “That girl is so pretty, right?”

Tommy smirked. “Mary brushed off on ye, huh?”

“What? No.” Great. I was demoted from stalker to lesbian. “I don’t have to be into girls to compliment them.”

“Lucy’s decent.” He watched Killian topple out of the barn through sliced, judgemental eyes. “My brother is bolloxed.”

Yes, Killian could not walk straight.

“Get in the truck.” Tommy’s unexpected upbraid knocked Killian for six. “Ye are always gettin’ too drunk and expectin’ me to pick up the pieces. If ye can’t handle ye drink, leave it for the big boys and get ye arse home or I won’t step in when our dad beats the fuckin’ shite out of ye.”

My friend rubbed his chest. “I see ten of ye.”

“Killian,” Tommy warned, and the inebriated fool, snickering to himself, crawled into the back of his brother’s truck. “Don’t be throwin’ up, or I’ll make ye choke on it.”

I laughed at the madness.

Tommy held open the passenger side door for me. “Get in the front, Emma.”

“Why does she get to call shotgun?” Killian is sprawled across the backseat. “She ain’t even supposed to be here.”

I ignored his slurred insensitiveness. “You invited me, arsewipe.”

He grumbled against the leather seat.

I don’t know what changed that night, but whilst Killian puked in a carrier bag, apologising to me over and over again for being a dick, Tommy decided, with or without his brother’s agreement, that I could join them at the diner to meet with Jace. We ate late-night burgers and fries and laughed about each other’s memories. Thanks to Mary, I had a good conversation starter because Tommy and Jace, even in her absence, had a lot of time for my sister.

Sneaking out to meet Killian became the best part of my week.

Tommy and Jace, slowly but surely, welcomed me into their fold.

If Killian lost his way on a night out, I could rely on the others to have my back.

Jace warmed up to me within two months. Hell, we even went to the skatepark by ourselves one evening whilst Tommy and Killian boxed at their father’s gym.

But mostly, I got to spend time with the oldest O’Shea brother, which outweighed the miserable experiences that I called life.

Sure, I still behaved at home, listened to my parents, witnessed harsh beatings when my brother’s misbehaved, and attended The Church of Latter-day Saints on Sundays, but I could escape reality, even for a short while, when the traveller boys swept by to take me on their adventures.

I fell off the spinning disk, dizzy and directionless, and teetered through the mirror maze. It was dark but no less quiet, and I knew he was close because it’s how we played. He stole moments with me whenever the others were nearby, and I loved every part of it. “I know you are watching me.”

Hand landing over my mouth, Tommy pulled my back to his chest. ”Ye determined to get a rise out of me.”

Tearing his hand down from my lips, I melted in his embrace. “I did nothing wrong.” Freeing myself from his arms, I walked backwards. “Did I?”

“Who is he?” He walked in my footsteps. “The lad out front.”

I knew he’d noticed. I don’t even remember the boy’s name, but he sat in my science class. ”Just some boy from school.” Tommy’s jealousy warmed my chest. “Why does it bother you so much? Aren’t you dating Sheila?”

He huffed out a laugh. ”Sheila is just a friend.”

No, Sheila will be his wife someday.

“Can I ask ye somethin’?” He grabbed my hand and tugged me in so close that I had to put two hands on his defined chest. “What’s the deal with ye and my brother? Are ye seein’ him or what?”

“No.” What gave him that impression? “Killian is my best friend. That’s all there is to it.”

I could not see his face in the dark. “Does he know that?”

Okay, that question made me laugh. Killian is not interested in me, not even in the slightest. He has the hots for Trinity. I have caught them with cacked pants enough times to attest to their relationship. “Yes. He loves me like a sister.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” he quipped, his thumb sweeping over my knuckles. “Don’t look at me like that.”

I am so grateful for the blackout tunnels because I smiled like a lovesick teenager. ”You can’t see my face.”

“I know ye are gawking at me.”

“I am not gawking.”

“Do ye have a thing for me, Emma?”

My heart stopped beating. “If I did?”

He was quiet for a moment. “Nothin’ could come of it.”

Disappointed by his response, I proceeded ahead. “Why not?”

“One, ye have to marry some virginal boy handpicked by your parents, and I have to marry some virginal girl and preside over the site someday. Two, ye are my brother’s friend. Three,” he whispered, his lips feather-light to my cheek, “I could end up in nick for touchin’ a minor.”

“Don’t be so dramatic.” My voice was almost inaudible. “You are only a few years older than me.”

His knuckles grazed my jawline. ”The law won’t see it that way, Emma.”

“Who is going to tell them?” I asked, surprisingly brazen. “You?”

Respiring a shuddered breath, he separated my lips with the pad of his thumb. “I like ye.”

I refrained from admitting how much I liked him, too.

“One kiss,” he croaked, his nose nudging mine. “I don’t want to regret it.”

I had never been kissed before.

His soft, tender lips pressed to the corner of my mouth—

“Tommy?” Killian’s harsh voice echoed from within the funhouse, and Tommy sprung back like the touch of me scalded him. “Where ye at? Jace wants to hit the dodgems.”

“Shite.” Tommy shouldered past me. “Go out the other way, Emma.”

Impossibly deflated, I listened to his retreating footsteps.

“Why did he run off?” Killian asked, and I shrieked, not expecting to hear him so close. “Pissed him off again, did ye?”

It was a joke, but something about his tone sounded accusatory.

How much did he hear?

Or rather, how much did he see?

“I think Killian knew something almost happened between us that night.” Gazing into the mug of rum, I brought the rim to my lips and swigged. “But he pretended to be clueless, and I never probed or pushed. I just chose to believe that he turned up at the end and genuinely wanted to go on the dodgems.”

Tommy is perched on the coffee table. “He knew,” he said, and my downcast gaze lifted. “He called me out on it when we got home. I denied it.”

A lump formed in my throat. “You could have given me the heads up.”

“That’s when Killian told me that he was in love with ye.” He met my steely eyes. “And I fuckin’ hated him for it. I still do, sometimes. He held you on a pedestal but never made a move or anythin’. The second I showed interest…” He drew in a sharp breath. “Let’s just say he didn’t like it.”

My scowl hardened. “That’s not what you were about to say.”

He huffed in exasperation. “Don’t start puttin’ words in my mouth.”

“We have to be honest with each other if you genuinely want a resolution.” I pointed at him with an accusatory finger. “There are multiple sides to this story, not just mine.”

“Killian was very angry,” he said, and it pained him to admit it. “I’d never seen him so out of control before.”

Then, whether Tommy liked it or not, he knew that Killian was more than capable of losing his temper. “Can I please message my brother to let him know I am safe before continuing?”

“I did that already.” He never proffered the phone. “The night at the theme park, I dropped Killian home, then Jace, then you.”

And we shared our first kiss.

As if reading my mind, his lips flattened to suppress the memory. “Two months of sneakin’ around, and I barely caught sight of a nipple.”

I tried to initiate more between us.

Tommy was adamant that I had to be sixteen.

“I should have waited for ye,” he said in a sullen voice. “Takin’ ye in the backseat of my truck after all those months of bein’ decent? It was wrong.”

It was impulsive and the spur of the moment. It felt right, though. “I never regretted that night. It happened because we were both ready.”

“Okay.” His chest inflated as he pulled in an encouraging breath. “One week later, we attended another party. This is the night my brother supposedly attacked ye. Talk me through it.”

Breath trembling inside my chest, I curled my fingers around the mug. “You want details?”

“If ye want me to see my baby brother in a different shade, ye better paint the image with every fuckin’ colour.” Uncapping the rum bottle, he splashed alcohol into our mugs. “Go ahead.” His watery eyes stared back at me. “Tell me what he did.”

Sudden guilt crept in. I hated Killian with every fibre of my being, but he was still this man’s brother. I know this conversation will be hard for him. “We don’t have to do this,” I said, and something unreadable flickered in his eyes. “Killian was your brother, no matter what. I have learnt to live with what happened. You can live without it, too.”

Tommy studied me like I was an enigma. “I need to know before I move forward.”

Raking a hand through my hair, I placed the mug on the floor and delved into part two of our past.

CHAPTER FORTY

Emma

Life Before

Mary’s plethora of glad rags stockpiled in the double wardrobe. Pondering between clothes, I combed through coat hangers to select the perfect outfit for tonight’s party and laid three slinky dresses on the bed.

Having not worn anything revealing or walked in vertiginous footwear before, I chucked strappy stiletto heels into the mix.

I had never put so much thought or effort into my appearance. I wanted to make an impression and infatuate a particular individual.

Perhaps I am overthinking and overanalysing the situation way too much. Tommy has non-stop texted me since the night we slept together, which should be satisfying, but his non-appearance at the diner on Monday and his no-show at the pier on Thursday were most worrisome.

Even Jace swung by the amusement arcade to chill with Killian for three hours, but the older O’Shea brother was nowhere to be seen.

He has ghosted everyone, including me.

Tommy did, however, promise to be at the party later, so I had to pull out all the stops. If he regrets our night together, I will be absolutely devastated.

Ferreting through the drawers, I bagged various cosmetics and sweet-smelling perfume and rammed tonight’s essentials into a rucksack.

A knock on the door.

“Just one second.” Hiding the bag under the pillow, I sat on the edge of the bed. “Come in.”

My mother appeared in the doorway. She looked beautiful this afternoon. Her hair upswept into a quiff with long waves spilling over the shoulders and her strawberry patterned swing dress flaring out at the knees. “Have you seen Benjamin?”

Yes, he left for rugby practice this afternoon. “No.”

“Training finished two hours ago. He should be home by now.”

If Ben’s training ended two hours ago and he hasn’t come home, he is down the street in his friend’s bed. “I don’t know, mum.”

“Benjamin tells you everything.” Her sceptical eyes sliced. “Who is she?”

Unprepared for the question, I stuttered into dreadful silence.

“Emma.” Wiping her hands in the white, lacy apron, she strode across the room, her kitten sinking into the thick carpet, and stared out of the window. “Your father will not tolerate liars in the family.”

My father is a pitiful excuse of a man. He is also the most hypocritical person to roam this godforsaken planet. All he had to do was look in the mirror to see everything he abhorred in life: haughtiness, deception, self-centeredness, self-delusion, rapacity, inconsideration, nastiness, violence and infidelity. He dared to objurgate and disparage his children for the very crimes he committed.

“I am not lying.” I picked my freshly varnished nails. “Sometimes, Ben stays on after practice to train with some of the boys. I am sure he will be home soon.”

If my mother disbelieved her daughter, she never showed it. Rather, she breathed out a dreamy sigh, studying the flowerbeds in the garden. “You will attend church on Sunday.”

As if I ever had a choice.

“I want you to meet someone,” she added with a mirthful smile, and my stomach lined with acid. “You remember the Gibbs family, don’t you? Well, the eldest son, Finley, is back from university. He is very eager to eat lunch with you.”

“Why would we eat lunch?” Finley Gibbs is a decent boy, from what I remember, but I had no interest in him. “I don’t even know him.”

“Yes, but he is to be a dentist someday.” She smoothed my arm with the fake tenderness of a doting mother. “Imagine the stability, Emma.”

Is she seriously pimping me out to the highest bidder?

“I will find you a suitable outfit.” She sauntered toward the door. “Meanwhile, catch up on some beauty sleep. You look tired. Oh, by the way.” Spinning around to face me, she lingered with her hand on the doorknob. “Our neighbour is hosting a barbeque tonight. Perhaps, if you feel up to it, you could join us.”

I glanced at the window. “Which neighbour?”

She pointed to the old, Victorian-style house across the street.

Yeah, not thanks. It was the creepiest house in our neighbourhood, and the female occupant was batshit crazy. Mary warned me never to go there. I knew, even as a child, to walk on the road when passing rather than use the pavement.

“Actually, I think you are right. I do feel a bit under the weather. I might take a shower and turn in for the night.” Faking a huge yawn, I stretched my arms above my head. “Do you think everyone could let me rest, or will my annoying brothers break down the door in a few hours? I mean, if you want me to be fresh for Sunday, I need undisturbed slumber.”

My mother’s face lit up with excitement. “Oh, why, of course. I will warn everyone. You get some rest. If you hear from your brother, tell him I am not happy.”

The door shut behind her.

I grabbed my phone.

Me: Where are you?

Ben: Why?

Me: Mum is looking for you.

Me: She said practice ended two hours ago.

Ben: Shit.

Me: Don’t worry. I told her that you probably stayed on to train with friends. Just roll with it.

Ben: You are a legend.

Me: I know.

Ben: I love you.

Me: Ditto.

Shoving my phone into the bag, I pulled the duvet down and created a human-like form with pillows on the bed. I had showered before my mother came home, so now I had to sit around and wait for nightfall.

***

I could hear the neighbour’s noisy music as I clambered down the breakable trellis on the side of the house.

Dropping the bag into the ornamental flowerbed, I landed on my feet, then my arse, and laid motionless in the grass for twenty unbreathable seconds.

My mother’s high-pitched giggles travelled across the street.

Turning onto my side, I scoured the vicinity to ensure an all-clear, reached for the bag and, crawling across the manicured lawn, made my way to the front gate.

Even when I achieved one step on the pavement, I hunkered low by the wall and bum shuffled to avoid possible eyewitnesses.

I had to meet Killian in thirty minutes, so time was of the essence.

Making it out of the street in one piece, I jogged to the nearby park, passed the bowling green, and ducked behind the public toilets.

Deciding to wear the satin green dress with spaghetti straps to compliment my eyes, I stepped into black strappy sandals, shook my hair out like a rock star, and then used the compact mirror to apply makeup.

Perfume—check.

Jewellery—check.

Purse, condom and money—triple check.

Now, I had to breathe.

Gathering discarded items on the floor, I thrust the bag into an overgrown bush to collect in the morning and walked like Bambi toward the brightly lit street.

“Emma?” Killian’s unexpected voice snatched the air from my lungs. He stood two metres away, a bottle of Jack Daniels dangling from his fingers. “What?”

“Jesus, Killian!” My face was hot with panic. “What the hell is wrong with you? Don’t creep up on me like that, especially in a dark park. I thought I was toast.”

His eyes were like pissholes in the snow. “Sorry, I saw ye runnin’ in here and never thought to call.” He proffered the bottle. “Nice dress.”

“Thank you.” I pulled a long swing, the sharp liquid burning my chest. “Where did you park the car?”

“I left the car at the house. I figured we could walk over. It’s not far.” When his elbow jerked out, I slinked our arms and walked alongside him. “It’s quicker this way.” His chin jerked to our heavily wooded surroundings. “It only took me seven minutes to jog over.”

My stomach protested. “What if there is a serial killer in the forest, though?”

“Then, it’s lucky ye got me, huh?” His lips pecked my cheek. “I plan to forget my name tonight.”

I will have a good time, but I have to keep my wits because being sober was crucial when opening up to Tommy. Let’s just hope what I tell him doesn’t blow up in my face.

Acres of private grounds sat around the impressive Romanesque-style house. Similar to every other party we attended, excluding its enormous size, innumerable people spilt from the entrance and the exit, each room occupied in masses, and loud, deafening music shook wall-mounted art and crystal ceiling fixtures.

Killian paused every fifteen seconds to fist bump friends or acquaintances. He truly is a popular soul and is loved by many.

Eager to find Tommy, I waded through the lively mob in the living room and fell into the chock-a-block kitchen.

I will be lucky if I make it out of this place alive.

Ducking under the outstretched arms of tall, sinewy males, I tumbled into the wooden island and helped myself to the cocktail bowl. I was mid-scoop when Jace snatched the stainless-steel ladle out of my hand. “Hey!”

“What is wrong with you?” He uncapped a bottle of Hooch lemon. “Firstly, you should never accept drinks from strangers. Secondly, you should never trust open alcohol bowls at some dude’s house party. What if someone drugged the punch? Is it worth risking?” His pierced brow raised when I remained nonplussed. “Didn’t think so.”

I thanked him for the bottle. “Where is Tommy?”

“Why?” His forest green eyes glittered in amusement. “Is there something I should know about?”

My shoulders sagged. “He told you.”

“Obviously.” His arm slid across my shoulders. “We tell each other everything.”

Well, I envied their close relationship somewhat. Ben was the only person I trusted in life, but he would never understand the situation between Tommy and me. Hell, he’d flake out, lose his shit. He’d do everything and anything to keep me away from him. So ultimately, I had no one to talk to about recent events. “Well, where is he?”

“Tommy’s around.” His stare toured the expanse of the modernised kitchen. “I haven’t seen him for a while, though.”

I spotted quiet, meek Lucy in his shadow. “Hey,” I yelled over the music, and she waved nervously. “You look great.”

Her cheeks pinkened. “Thank you, Emma.”

Jace gave me a thankful smile.

“Oh, so do you,” she spluttered. “Sorry, I am not used to this stuff…” Her body flinched and recoiled when drunk, boisterous lads passed on by. “It’s a little wild.”

“Yes, Luc.” Killian hugged Lucy from behind; I do not think her cheeks could get any darker. “Killer skirt. I like it.”

“Watch it.” Jace is not in the mood for the younger O’Shea brother. “And get your hands off her before I snap a wrist or two.”

Killian snagged a bottle of vodka. “Quit bein’ a buzzkill all your life, Jace. It is unflatterin’.”

“The prick gets on my nerves,” Jace whispered. “Listen, Lucy is really nervous. I want her to have a good time…” He gave me a lopsided smile. “Do you want to help?”

“Sure.” Lemon flavoured alcohol poured down my throat. “I like her, so save the puppy dog eyes.”

He let out a loud laugh. “I knew I could bank on you.”

Having fun with Lucy was not a chore. Once she started to enjoy herself, the night passed in an eventful blur. Boy time was overrated, so we left Jace and Killian in the kitchen and killed hours in the main room, dancing in the crowd until alcohol thrummed our veins, and the soles of our feet hurt.

Jace got anxious in Lucy’s absence. He swooped in during the best part of Diana King’s “Shy Guy”, leaving me partnerless.

Again, I am the third wheel.

I almost walked away when Jace pulled me back. “You can stay.”

No, I’ll leave them to it. “I need to pee.”

Prince’s “The Most Beautiful Girl in the World” segued, and I became a forgotten memory. I had never seen him so happy. Putting his back to the wall, he pulled Lucy close with a lazy smile on his face, wrapped her in his strong embrace and mouthed lyrics in her ear.

Damn, I am so single.

Breathing out a dreamy sigh, I went to the dimmed entrance hall, the disco ball’s multicoloured lights flickering on the walls, and hunted for the bathroom.

I was halfway up the stairs when Tommy and Sheila appeared on the top step, both looking equally happy.

My blood turned to ice.

Masking sadness, I slapped on a fake smile and acted completely normal. “Hey,” I said, and the pair glanced up. “You are missing all the fun.”

“Hi, Emma.” Sheila modelled a stunning silver dress. “You lookin’ for the bathroom?”

“Yes.” Avoiding Tommy’s wary gaze, I stopped just shy of the landing. “Too much alcohol.”

“It’s the last door on the left,” she told me, and I thanked her. “See you around.”

I never breathed or looked back.

I went straight to the bathroom and locked the door behind me.

Tears saturated my eyes.

I had no right to be upset. Sheila is a lovely girl, and she is Tommy’s future. I knew that when I slept with him.

Still, it hurt to see them together.

Scrunching up balls of tissue, I dabbed the wetness under my eyes and rechecked the state of my reflection. I looked okay, surprisingly enough, so a quick fuss with the hair and extra gloss to the lips, and I was good to go.

Someone’s fist banged on the door.

“Busy,” I shouted, but the persistent arsewipe knocked ten times harder. “Alright. Calm down. It’s not like there aren’t any other bathrooms.” Unlocking the door, I swung it open, ready to voice my exasperation level, when stormy grey eyes caught me off guard. “Tommy…”

He forced his way inside, kicked the door shut, snatched my head in his hands and slanted his mouth on mine.

Oxygen evaporated from my lungs.

I crashed into the sink, the onslaught of his mouth overpowering mine, and latched onto the collar of his leather jacket.

“Ye are the reason that God made a girl,” he whispered Prince’s lyrics between hot, passionate kisses. “How can ye come here, wearin’ a dress like that?”

I smiled against his lips. “Do you like it?”

“I fuckin’ love it,” he said hoarsely, his thumb tracing my parted lips. “I missed ye.”

Butterflies fluttered in my tummy. “You were avoiding me.”

“I feel like shite.” His lips paid homage to my neck. “Emma, I should have waited. I can get in so much trouble.”

I regretted nothing. “I am glad we did it.” My fingers interlocked at the nape of his neck. “I am not opposed to doing it again, either.”

“Don’t tease me,” he groaned, the bulge in his denim jeans pressing into my most intimate area. “It’s all I think about, the look on ye face that night, the way ye moaned my name. I can’t get the image out of my head.”

With determined eyes, I palmed his cheek. “Tommy,” I said in a timorous voice. “There is something I want to tell you.”

“Aye.” His forehead touched mine. “Same.”

“Tommy, I…” Someone stood in the doorway behind him. Shit, I never even heard the door open. “Killian?”

Tommy ripped himself away from me in stark panic.

“Seriously, Tommy?” Killian spat, and my eyes widened in puzzlement. “You’d do that to me?”

“Killian,” I scolded lightly. “Calm down. It’s no big deal—”

“No big deal?” He was on the brink of tears. “I told him to stay away from ye, Emma. Fuck ye, Tommy.” His mounting anger returned to his brother. “Ye knew how I felt about her. Ye fuckin’ knew!”

“Listen…” Tommy tried to reason with him. “I never meant for this to happen—”

“Fuck you!” Killian lunged the bottle at his brother, and it shattered against the tiled wall. “Ye supposed to be my brother! Ye fuckin’ snake! I knew somethin’ was goin’ on between ye both. Just wait until dad finds out what ye did!”

I did not want to be the reason they fell out. My hands raised as I stepped closer in a futile attempt to comfort him. “Killian—”

“Fuck you,” he snapped.

“Don’t talk to her like that,” Tommy spat, and I knew by the dark glint in their eyes that they were seconds away from attacking each other. “Ye want to blame someone? Blame me. But show her some fuckin’ respect.”

Killian’s chest rises and falls as he wrestles for breath. He looked at me, devastated and speechless. “I thought ye were my friend.”

Guilt worked its way into my heart. “Killian…”

He stormed out of the bathroom.

“Shit.” I collected Mary’s small clutch bag on the floor and rushed toward the door. “I need to speak to him.”

Tommy never stopped me.

I darted downstairs to see the front door slam in Killian’s wake. Flinging it open, I dodged the crowd smoking weed on the porch and, seeing my friend’s tall form disappear into the ominous forest, sprinted across uneven grounds.

Soon, the tall, thicket of trees and low, drifting fogs replaced raucous surroundings. Dry, fallen leaves and scraggly twigs crushed under my clumsy footsteps. “Killian, can we talk?”

“Go away, Emma.” He whacked branches aside with a long twig. “I can’t even look at ye right now after seein’ ye with him.”

“I’m sorry.” Mud squelched between my toes. “You never told me. I had no idea.”

“Tommy knew.” His shoulders hunched forward as he carried himself through the forest. “That never meant fuckin’ shite, did it?”

“Can you slow down?” My ankles started to hurt. “Please, we are best friends.”

His footsteps faltered. “We are more than friends.”

I caught up to him.

“Tommy can never be with ye.” He was teary-eyed and lachrymose when he faced me. “He has to marry Sheila.”

I reached for his hand. “I know.”

“He won’t cheat once they exchange vows. That’ll be it between ye both. It’s not the same for me,” he stressed, but I did not have romantic feelings for him. “I ain’t gonna lead to shite with him. I can come and go as I please. I am not primed to be the camp’s foreman.”

My eyes closed as I contemplated how to approach the topic of us. “Killian, I don’t look at you like that.”

“That’s because of him,” he argued, and I shook my head. “It’s all his fuckin’ fault.”

No, even if there were no Tommy, I’d have zero feelings toward Killian. “If you like me so much, why are you with other girls?”

“Ye ain’t ready to date. I am with ‘em whilst I wait for ye.” His hands captured my cheeks. “I am always waitin’ for ye, Emma.”

My mouth was suddenly dry. “You never, not once since we have been friends, gave me the impression that you care, not like that. It’s platonic between us.”

“I love ye,” he said throatily, and I drew his hands down from my face and stepped back. “I really do love ye, Emma.”

“I’m sorry.” I ran a hand down my face. “But I am in love with your brother.”

He began to sob and mumble indistinct words.

“No, please don’t cry.” My hand rubbed his back. “I am so, so sorry.”

His thick arms locked around my neck as he pulled me in for a tight hug.

I sighed in his ear. “We can get through this…” When his lips peppered my jaw, I began to recoil. “Come on. Why don’t we go and grab some food and eat by the pier?”

“Ye feel it?” His mouth moved dangerously close to mine. “Ye feel how much I love ye.”

I felt his arousal digging into my abdomen. “You are drunk.”

“No, I am fine,” he lied, his palms gliding down my back. “Shite, why did ye wear this dress? I can’t take my eyes off ye.”

Acidic bile soared in my throat when his palms dipped under the satin hem to smooth across my backside.

“Ye don’t really love him. Ye can’t.” His mouth suckled my throat. “Let me take care of ye. Just do it once with me, and ye will see it.”

“I am not having sex with you.” Reaching for his wandering hands, I put space between us. “We need to leave before you wake up with a sore head in the morning—” His mouth came crashing down on mine, teeth clanging together, and I jumped back. “Killian, stop it.”

He came for me again, his trembling fingers threading through my hair, his tongue prodding my pinched lips.

“I said no.” Turning my head, I fumbled with his shaky hands. “Killian, I mean it—stop it.” His tongue, laced with harsh-tasting liquor, speared into my mouth, so I slapped him hard across the cheek. “That’s enough—”

The back of his hand struck me in the face, and I went down like someone experiencing a heart attack. Head clipping the leaf-covered rock on impact, I felt a sharp pain slice behind my ear, the instant trickle of hot fluid down my neck.

I tried to shake the ringing in my ears.

If I called his name, I couldn’t tell you.

Everything is silent.

Everything is still.

But it’s cold now.

Goosebumps skated across my exposed skin as he crawled on me, tugging the dress to my waist, and I groaned to the feel of lace slipping down my legs.

Tears leaked from my blurry eyes.

His hand shoved my face in the dirt. I tasted soil on my tongue, on my teeth, and blinked rapidly to efface the grit in my eyes.

His belt buckle clanked between my thighs.

I fought to breathe.

Fingers twisting in my hair, he forced himself inside me, and I lost the ability to speak. No, it’s not real. He would never hurt me like this. Not my friend. Yet, I felt him moving inside me, fast, brutal and punishing and heard him moaning in my ear as his warm tears dropped onto my cheek.

My soul left my body.

I stood to the side and watched him take me violently in the bed of leaves.

Why didn’t she fight?

Why is she lying there and letting him do this to her?

His pale backside tensed as he picked up the pace between her slackened thighs. He screamed into the groove of her neck and staggered to his feet with his now flaccid penis dangling between his legs.

I watched him stare down at her in complete horror and examine the blood on his palms.

Her eyes were open and lifeless.

She looked utterly soul-destroyed.

Tucking himself away, he clasped the back of his head and stared at the starlit sky above. “I’m sorry,” he cried, looking for something on the floor. “I didn’t mean to do it…”

Her eyelashes fluttered.

Her body lay lifeless in the dirt.

Her tears had dried.

Killian came back to her side and studied the damage. In fear of the consequence, he straddled her waist, wrapped his hands around her throat and squeezed until his purple fingers drained the life from her eyes.

Her heartbeat slowed down.

Her eyes closed.

Crying like a little boy, he rolled off her body and vomited on the ground violently. Rubbing saliva from his lips with the back of his hand, he swept leaves and debris into piles and began to cover her body.

He ran away like a coward.

***

My eyes snapped open.

Drawing in a deep, stuttered gasp, I glared at the blanket of dry leaves on my face and, choking on vomit, rolled in the mud. I threw up too many times to count, so much that my throat burnt, and I burst into tears.

The heat of the morning sun whispered over my fingers as I grappled the ground. I snaked out of the makeshift grave, collapsed twice, and went onto all fours to crawl.

A hitched sob escaped my lips.

I ached everywhere.

My shoes are gone.

My dress is soiled and torn.

Why did I wear a dress?

I should have covered up more.

I made it easy for him. If I had worn something less revealing, he wouldn’t have acted like a monster. He’d have controlled himself.

This is all my fault.

Moisture oozed out of my nose, and I wiped it away. Whimpering onto my feet, I walked through the forest, the smell of petrichor crisp to the dry leaves, and made it back to the bowling green, where the bag of clothes would be waiting for me. Only the bag is gone. He took it. He thought I died and left no room for error.

I could not go home looking like a harlot.

My father will beat me.

The expressionless policewoman peered up as I limped toward the desk. Leaving the half-eaten toast on the side plate, she dusted off her hands and rose to her feet to greet me.

“Hello,” I said with a breathless hitch. “I would like to file a rape charge, please.”

Her concerned eyes lingered on my neck.

“It happened a few hours ago, I think.” Fresh tears cascaded down my cheeks. “I just woke up…” I belatedly noticed all the people in the waiting room. “Please, can I have some clothes? I should not be wearing this dress.”

She told me her name and led me to a private room to do a rape kit.

I showered.

I changed.

I gave a statement.

I pressed charges.

I vowed never to wear a dress again.

My parents greeted the two officers when they drove me home that morning. Mum cried. I heard from the bedroom. But I was too numb to care. I stayed in bed, wrapped in layers of clothes and multiple duvets.

Ben’s arm slid under my neck, and I winced. “Sorry,” he said as he examined the bruises on my skin. “I just want to be here for you. You don’t have to talk to me.”

Turning in his brotherly arms, I buried my head on his chest. “I feel so weird.” My tears soaked his T-shirt. “I don’t know how you can look at me and not feel sick.”

“It’s okay.” He kissed the crease between my brows. “You’re my sister. You did nothing wrong.”

I sobbed until my eyes hurt.

“You can cry as much as you want. I am not going anywhere.” His little finger curled around mine. “I promise.”

I slept in his arms that night.

Killian was arrested the following morning.

Officials found his dead body hanging from the ceiling of his holding cell the same night.

Dad never looked at me when I ventured downstairs. He acted as though I did not exist.

Mum cried and left the room whenever I searched for her. Her rejection hurt. I had never needed a mother’s love and affection any more than I did in that moment of sadness.

Just one hug was all I craved.

Martin and Miles took turns checking in on me. My big brothers had surprised me with their concerns.

Maybe there was hope for us siblings, after all.

Mary is clueless. She is out there somewhere, far away from here, living the life she had always wanted. And I missed her. I missed her so much. But her happiness comforted me. One of us had to get out of this town eventually, so why shouldn’t it be her?

But Ben, he never left my side.

He is my rock, and I’d have killed myself without him.

I watched the cloud-washed sun soar above our horizon with a throw blanket draped over my shoulders. It was a gorgeous morning, the soft wind blowing through my hair, the birds chirping in the distance. I have not slept a wink, but it was worth it to witness the sunrise.

“I woke up one night and heard my mother screaming downstairs and my father on the phone to the police. People broke into our house whilst we slept and took everything, even pointless items like magnets and cutlery.”

Tommy is sitting on the step beside me.

“People sprayed the front of the house in red paint. ‘Emma Hughes is a liar’ and ‘Emma Hughes is a whore’,” I reminded him, knowing he played a part in vandalism. “People targeted my family in the street or at the supermarket, threatening them with violence.”

His thumb made lazy circles on the ceramic mug in his hand.

“I missed my period,” I said, remembering the day like it happened yesterday. “Ben bought the test on his way home from school, and I took it the same night. It was positive. Two red lines. I was pregnant with my rapist’s child.” A cold chill shuddered through me, so I tightened the blanket around my shoulders. “I was too scared to tell my parents. I binned the test and hoped it would all go away. But my mother found it and showed it to my father. He was repulsed. I am not allowed to be pregnant before marriage. He said I could not live there anymore and had to leave, and I begged him,” I whimpered, placing a palm over my lips to suppress tears of sorrow. “I begged him to let me stay.”

“You will not disgrace this family!” His fingers dug into my arm as he pushed me out of the house. “Shame on you, Emma. Shame,” he tossed the pregnancy test on the floor by my feet, “on you.”

“No, daddy—” He slammed the front door in my face. “Please, don’t do this to me! Please!” My palms struck the door disparagingly. “Please.”

No one opened the door.

“Please.” Sliding down the wall, I fell onto my bottom. “I got nowhere else to go.”

“He threw me out and told me never to come back.” And I have hated him for it ever since. “I had to walk to the nearest bus stop with only the clothes on my back.”

Tommy said nothing.

“The driver just shut the door when someone banged on the window. It was my brother, Ben. He paid for a bus ticket, sat on the empty seat opposite me and smiled.” Silent tears fell, yet my lips stretched into a smile at the memory. “He never said why he was there or where we were going, but his face told me everything. I was not alone.”

I set the mug aside.

“There you have it. You know how the rest of the story ends. God knows you made it your life’s mission to make my life hell. You and the others.” I side-eyed him. “We lived in fear until you got bored, I guess.”

Still, he said nothing.

My lips quivered. “So, don’t tell me that I got up one day and did this to myself. It would be so much easier and far less painful to say it didn’t happen.”

Tommy’s head lowered into his hands. He inhaled, exhaled, and then cut his wet eyes to me. “I was goin’ to tell ye that I loved ye.”

I nodded. “I guess neither of us had the chance to say it.”

His mouth opened and closed.

He stood, descended the wooden steps and strolled through the static caravans to steal some alone time.

He believed me.

Now, he had to come to terms with what his brother did.

And what part he played in the wake of his brother’s suicide.