Ch 1-10

Summary

This book contains adult language and subject matter including graphic violence, drugs and explicit sex that may be disturbing to some readers. When under arrest, Alexa thought life was over. But with the help of Donny Stevens and the mysterious Vincent, she is a free woman again. Liberation gave her the chance to start over, to run into the love of her life’s arms and overcome exhausting burdens determined to enshroud her in hellacious darkness, but temporary confinement left her in a state of pensive ambivalence, too. She wanted answers. With Paddy Haines’ final words at the forefront of her mind, she faced something she had spent so long running away from–her past–to find purpose and a semblance of closure. Allowing Alexa to run down memory lane is what she deserves. But while she battles demons, is Liam overlooking his? With more secrets and lies unfolding and continuous obstacles standing in their way, will Liam Warren and Alexa Haines ever get their happy ending? If only life were that simple. 

CHAPTER ONE

Liam

What is love?

If you used your due diligence and researched the definition, society claims such intense feelings of deep affection stems from the gravitational attraction, sexual tension and early romanticism between you and another, a fated soulmate, who, one day, ingrained in your heart and paired their soul to yours.

In all honesty, our relationship, Alexa’s and mine, felt more like a painful disaster, or perhaps our collision was a beautiful tragedy. Either way, I fell hard, and I cannot breathe nor function without her.

Was it instantaneous magnetism and carnal enchantment with a degree of idealisation?

Yes and no. I saw a beautiful woman and concluded she was different. The sound of her genuine laughter earned a rare smile from me. I knew that the unfamiliar emotion I felt when all-consumed by her proximity meant something. Her happiness and infectious smile made my heart beat harder, yet, for an unshakeable time, I refused to believe she could be anything more than sex.

Before you question my prior indeterminateness, take into consideration that I am not a normal man. You will not find me working industriously to line another person’s pocket. You will not see me wandering around convenience stores, dressed in average or casual attire, selecting groceries and contemplating what flavoursome wine must sit on the dinner table that evening, or operating and functioning in a sphere of normality with moral citizens trying to make ends meet, neither will you witness me rearing children with a doting wife on my arm.

No, I am an egotistical opportunist who’s influenced by fashion designers, tailored suits and top-of-the-range vehicles. I luxuriate in affluence and wealth, without marriage complications and the stress of rioting offspring. I don’t wait for the universe to brighten my future, or rely on another individual to motivate aspirations. That’s tedious and boring. Take note: If you want something enough, you’ll depend on yourself solely and snatch everything—even what doesn’t belong to you—and stake claim. How else do you achieve an abundance of accomplishments? Do you think opportunities just land on your idle lap? Must I be a sheep and follow expectancies because someone once expressed the importance of education, nine-to-five jobs, marriage and children?

Is my outlook on life pessimistic?

Yes and no. I know where I stand, where my loyal subjects stand. My lifestyle, although frowned upon, is familiar, uncomplicated, fulfilling and gratifying.

Is my immoral conduct fair?

No, but when did I care for the opinions of others?

People judge me, and so they should. I am a renowned criminal and drug baron, a notorious crime lord who waits for you to fall asleep at night before ripping you from pleasant dreams and instilling gruesome nightmares. Challenge my honourability. I am a man of my word, but that doesn’t mean I won’t hold your eyes while tearing out the thumping muscle beneath your ribcage and feeding it to the wolves.

Was I born evil?

No, I bleed the same tears as everyone else.

You needn’t forget I was once a little boy, someone who watched interacting families through park railings, imagining how it felt to enjoy blanket-picnics with siblings. I sat on many a bench, pushbike to the side, scarfing cheap peanuts, listening to mother’s compliment their beautiful daughters, hearing the father’s praising their sons, demonstrating and leading them into young men in preparation for civilisation.

Neglect and dejection hurt more than I ever cared to admit. I often wondered why my mother chose drugs over my welfare and why my father despised my existence.

When I was young, naive and optimistic, I played out various scenarios inside my head. Even when Bill—the eccentric Jamaican guitarist who took me under his wing and showed raw compassion and empathy for a boy who’s small white hand fitted perfectly against his large brown palm—became a huge factor of my existence, I dreamt of a different life. I held onto the hope that my father would someday remember me, or that my mother hadn’t injected heroin into her veins and left me alone in the world.

Do I blame my childhood for the man that I am today?

To any psychologist, yes would be an acceptable answer, but blaming the people who wronged me doesn’t give me a semblance of closure or understanding. Disadvantaging myself with laborious scorn and resentment repairs nothing, the pain of yesterday strengthened and created the man that I am today. Without sustaining bitterness for the people who brought me into this world, I’d have never mustered the committed strength to better myself and, in an absentminded state, sought like-minded people to stabilise my future.

Did I plan to rule on high?

Yes, I had a vision and barely slept until a gilded cage domed the city I like to call my empire.

Back to the original point: what is love?

Forget the cliché romance stories, happily-ever-after platitudes, eternal promises and unrealistic perfected partners. Yes, Love is soul-consuming, an impassioned connection between yourself and a significant other, but is your undying affirmation of affection enough to never stray? Will you get bored in twenty years and tarnish your relationship by inviting a third person into your bed? Would your adulteries lead you to a life of lonesomeness? If not unfaithfulness, will complacency wreak the foundations once written in stone? When the honeymoon period subsides, will you continue to venerate, aggrandise and serenade your better half?

People whisper some defaming untruths behind my back. The streets of London declare that I am a heartless man who deserves misfortune and hardship for my sins and their spurious claims narrate a vivid story. And, to a certain extent, their unsolicited speculations aren’t far from the truth; however, set the corruption to the bottom of the pile so that I can address the philandering rumours—the age-old canards that nark me the most. Yes, I appreciate women. It’s impossible to enumerate my past affairs, and quixotic for me to vow never to admire a decent face in the crowd again, but honest opinions aren’t a testimony of infidelities.

When I met Alexa, I shared a weak moment with Natalie. Back then, she was one of Club 11’s principal dancers. It was a time where I denied myself the woman I truly wanted by allowing Natalie to pleasure me.

Aside from Natalie, there were no others until an officer informed me of my woman’s death, cutting out my heart in the process.

If I could expunge those blurred memories, I’d do it in a heartbeat, remove every woman I embraced in Alexa’s absence. If I knew—even if had the most diminutive inclination—that she was alive, I’d have never tarnished our relationship with nameless, faceless women.

People change—I changed. I met a seraphic beauty and claimed her as mine. If unimportant nobodies enjoy groundless gossiping, then you must wonder why. Boredom, I concluded, picturing their monotonous lifestyles where maligning others is the highlight of their uninteresting and unproductive existence. The difference between this hellacious criminal and your doting husband—who sleeps with his Personal Assistant while you’re at home taking care of his kids—I made a pledge to love one woman and one woman only. You won’t find another female in my bed—hold me to this promise in thirty years’ time. You mightn’t see me regulating with the common folk, as aforementioned, but for Alexa Haines, I’d move mountains, capsize the city and drain the soul of any fool that wrongs her. I’d die in her honour tomorrow if it meant she could breathe again.

“It’s not worth it.” Chief superintendent Reginald Burton paced the alleyway belly, the midsole of his brown leather shoes, sequencing a jarring squeak with each frustrated stomp. “No woman,” he spat furiously, shoving his face in mine, “is worth this shit. Are you fucking blind, Warren? Alexa Haines isn’t worth this fucking bullshit. Not for you. Not for me.” He punctuated each syllable. “Not for the city of London.”

I led a solitary life in anticipation of my brothers and settled for meaningless affairs to protect the broken pieces of my ice-cold heart. And then she entered my life and righted my future. “Before this entertaining harangue, you asked me a question, Reginald.” Foot propped up the polychromatic bricked wall behind me, I set the end of a cigarette alight, respiring veiled smoke to the night sky. “You asked, ‘what is love?’, and always, when evoked by sentimentalism, I consider how far I’ve come and the people who helped me along the way.”

Reginald fixed his brown fedora hat and corrected the buttons of his trench coat. Before his appointed arrival, he disguised himself to conceal his identity.

Somebody blew the whistle, a rat anonymously informed the independent police complaints commission about the Chief breaking anti-consorting laws, so, while taking a break from the metropolitan—forced sabbatical leave rather—he’s awaiting response from the parliamentary office to determine the accurateness of evidence held against him.

Has Reginald received illegal payments from the syndicate?

Yes, I pay the man an extortionate amount of money for his services. Without Reginald’s loyal involvement, it is impossible to mislead the law and escape punishment for my wrongdoing. Bent coppers like him, for a prosperous lifestyle, happily hides evidence to undermine potential investigations at court and passes tip-offs to prevent citizen arrest. It’s disadvantageous, him sitting on the outside, looking in. I want him inside that interrogation room, imposing and sponging, surreptitiously helping Alexa in her hour of need.

“Such senile questions remind me of a life I no longer care about—a time where Alexa existed merely twenty minutes away from the place I slept at night, waiting for me find her,” I admitted, shrugging a shoulder. “Will love be my greatest failure? Probably. It doesn’t change how I feel, though, Reginald. For me, love is more than a vow of lifelong promises. It is a possessive need to put her before everything and everyone, including myself.”

His condemning glare held firmly in place. “You cannot love someone who lets you go down for her crimes. Hell, if she’s not careful, the entire fucking organisation will collapse on everybody—including me!”

“Your arrogance insults me,” I barked, tossing the half-smoked cigarette on the floor and getting in his face. “Alexa’s no informant or fucking dry snitch. She’d never, ever, squeal truths to bluecoat scum for salvation. I know that woman like the back of my hand, and she’d take everyone’s secrets to Hades if it meant protecting me—not that I’d permit it. You and I both know as much.” Uncertainty flared in his narrowed eyes. “I need to see her, Reginald. Find a way to get me inside a room with her.”

“It’s impossible, Warren. They will detain the pair of you incommunicado.” He sighed in defeat. “Shit, I can’t even brush palms with the woman. It’s an iron cast case.”

“Why the fixation? If the police obtained unarguable facts and concrete evidence, why haven’t they charged her already?”

“They have a reliable eyewitness and an anonymous tip-off.” His tone of voice lowered. “It’s bigger than fraud and murder, Warren. They will use this evidence and coax her—have her singing like a bastard canary. Don’t you see it? It’s not Alexa they want sitting on that stand, facing justice.” His murderous glare burnt into me. “It’s you.”

What I feel for Alexa exceeds heart-warming fondness and over emotionalism or nostalgia. It borderlines a dangerous obsession. He believes she’s undeserving of our exposure, but to me, she’s worth my heart. I’ll face life imprisonment to ensure her freedom. If the metropolitan throws the law down, I will willingly enter the station and take accountability for her crimes. “Then you leave me with no choice.”

Before I stride past him, he grabbed my elbow, sending a maddening boil through my blood. “Your foolishness will cost everyone that’s ever assisted you, Warren.”

My furious scowl went from his hand to his face. “Unless you want a broken wrist, Reginald, I suggest you release me.” Clearing his throat, he lessened his hold on me. “I will not leave her to rot. If it is me, they’re after? Then I am here for the taking.” Towering over his plump frame, I rock back on the heels of my leather shoes, hands fisted inside my trouser pockets. “You disappoint me, Chief. Perhaps it’s time to invest and upgrade.”

“You are illogically tenacious,” he barked, flicking his eyes toward the parked Bentley, awaiting my return. “I appreciate your limited trust issues and your lack of faith in me. However, if I cannot intercede, why not accept Stevens’ offer? No, he’s not an active member of the syndicate, but he’s a damn good detective. He can overturn this nonsense with a click of the finger.”

Detective Donny Stevens, the Chief continues to prattle. I am unacquainted with the man in question, but apparently, he’s one of Vincent’s closest allies. He’s also a dependable yet dishonourable man who works closely to Reginald. “He belongs to Vincent.” Schooling my features, I rubbed rough stubble, contemplating the concept. “You know my feelings regarding outsiders. I will not be indebted to anyone.”

Since Vincent’s phone call, I repudiate consideration of our bloodline. I’m not entertaining the nonsensical conversation or accepting my alleged brother’s proposal. Once Alexa’s unshackled, I’ll meet with my loyal men. In particular, Brad, sit with them over a bottle of Macallan and discuss this unwanted nuisance. Quite frankly, Vincent’s declaration is unfathomably unrealistic. If he becomes a reoccurring hindrance, I will have no choice but to eliminate the problem and move forward. Right now, though, I have more significant issues to deal with—my woman.

“Accept Vincent’s offer,” Reginald prompted, staring at me despairingly. “If you want Alexa released, then he’s your only hope.”

“Why must I go through Vincent?” I asked, irritated by the thought of amalgamating with some rinsed out, needy cynosure who craves my attention. “Donny’s one of yours. Make him settle this under your firm advisement.”

Shaking his head, he scratched the nape of his neck. “He’s a damn good homicide detective who loves his job, but insubordination is one of his many wearisome tendencies. Stevens’ manipulated by Vincent. He won’t disobey that man’s orders—”

“Fine,” I snapped, ready to extract my phone. “I don’t have time for this cocksucker’s noncompliance. If he’s refusing to help me because Vincent hasn’t given the go-ahead? I’ll pay him a kind visit and twist some acquiescence out of him.”

“For heaven’s sake.” Tired and pale, he paced the narrowed space, rechecking his surroundings. “What, so now you’re going to eliminate one of my most valuable men for this bitch? Is that what we’ve succumbed to?”

Ignited by disseminating rage, I abruptly snatched his throat and rammed his quaking body to the wall. “Have you forgotten who I am?” I spat, and his wet eyes rounded. “First, you question my rationality. Now you’re insulting my fucking woman.” Thrusting my knuckles under his chin, I clung to him, ignoring his pathetic wheezing, detecting advancing footsteps. “Who’s the bitch now, huh?”

“Bossman.” Brad’s sanguine presence and calm voice filtered between our hostile performance. “Good old Burton’s seconds away from vomiting. You might want to alleviate the noose.”

“Fuck his noose.” Promising threats lasered from my firm scowl. I snatched the fedora from Reginald’s head, dishevelling his receding grey hair. “You are getting too big for your boots, Reginald. I’d hate to make an example out of you.”

“Warren,” he pleads, his fingernails desperately clawing at my wrist, cheeks puffed out and ruddy. “Please, I beg you.”

“Begging is for the weak,” I snarled, using unnecessary force to shove him aside. Panting, he collapsed, backside crashing to the ground, splattering stagnant rainwater from an uneven pothole. “Recite the rules, Chief.”

Repositioning onto his hands and knees, he lowered his head, levelling his frenetic breathing. “Never challenge the boss.”

“Correct.” Removing the Desert Eagle from the waistband of my trousers, inserting a magazine for panic-stricken effect, I point the barrel at his head, hearing Brad mutter a curse beside me. “What happens to insolent soldiers?”

Reginald licked his dry lips, gazing up at Brad beneath hooded eyebrows. “Don’t let him kill me, Jones. You know I got your backs. He’s not thinking straight—” I booted him clean under the chin, sending his wailing body into a heap on the cold floor. “Warren—”

Reaching down, snatching a handful of his hair, I forced his staggering legs upright, backing him up against the wall. “Nobody calls my woman a bitch,” I enunciated harshly, ramming the barrel into his heaving mouth, “and lives to hear the end of it.”

Reginald grappled my shirt, eyes widening like a deer in the headlight. He whimpered a long line of apologises, a single tear rolling down his cheek.

I caught his muffled promise, and withdrew my hand, ripping the gun from his mouth. The second oxygen clogged his lungs, he doubled over at the waist, splashing a force of projectile vomit between my leather shoes.

“Oh, that fucking stinks.” Brad wafted the stench of too many ales and regurgitated fast foods from his nose, dramatically dry-heaving. “Fucking hell, Burton. You need to get that ass on a diet before cardiac arrest puts you in a premature box.”

“In case you hadn’t noticed,” Reginald fires back, spittle dribbling from his chin, “I am already a dead man walking.”

“Thanks to those greasy kebabs.” Brad shuddered, paying great attention to the mess Reginald left on the floor. “Is that a whole fucking mushroom? Boss, he’s irredeemable. Just shoot the fucker and be done with him.”

Straightening his spine, Reginald’s hands curled into fists. “You chopsy wanker—”

“Enough.” Holding up a commanding hand, I silenced their puerile argument. “In a moment of defeatism, you vowed assistance, Reginald.”

Resigned, the Chief wiped puke from his lips, shaking residue off his hand. “I know someone that can get you ten minutes with Haines.” His sad eyes held mine, subjugated by our unusual contention. “But that’s the best I can offer. Fuck, my job is on the line here, Warren. Cut an old man some slack, huh?”

Angry yet adrenalised, I bellied relief and gestured towards the Bentley. “Lead the way.”

***

Alexa

I am lying on the world’s most uncomfortable cot, reading the horrific graffiti displayed on the stained walls and ceiling. Black and blue ink unadorned my unprepossessing, impermanent cell, a detailed story about countless detained criminals and their certifiable thought process.

Rolling onto my side, I squinted, reading the delineation of committed crimes, penned in what resembled human excrement on the wooden bench the detectives ordered me to utilise if in need of a bathroom break.

My nose twitched in disgust.

Yanking Liam’s hoodie over my head, covering my face, I fell back onto the groaning bed, complaining under my breath. I cannot believe my unfortunateness. This morning, I awakened to a new era, wrapped protectively in Liam’s arms, feeling a sense of closure. I hadn’t foreseen this minor setback—well, it’s hardly trivial, Alexa. It’s more of a grievous situation, but, hey, you wear Liam’s clothes. The scent of his cologne lingers on the material, so there is that—when scouring the penthouse for Jace, and most certainly hadn’t considered interrogation when imagining a lazy day on the sofa with an inexhaustible supply of ice cream.

What has my miserable life surmounted to?

According to Detective Asshole, Alexa Haines, impersonating Victoria Rose, was last seen with the victim, Rohan Wallace. I mean, at first, I snorted. This deranged woman over here has absolutely no recollection of the said man. In fact, this senile mental patient assured herself that the arrest was a misunderstanding. Perhaps she’d get a tap on the wrist for not voicing her “death”, but once she puts on the waterworks and explains her not-so-acclimatising history with Flamur Bajramovic, the department of justice will empathetically understand and wish her on her merry way, right? “Wrong.”

Why must I soliloquise in the third person?

“Because you are a damn nut job, Alexa.” Huffing wayward strands from my face, I peered through the tightened hood and stared at the cracked ceiling, the one that seems to be shrinking with each passing minute. “Oh, God. I am going to die in jail.”

What if someone tries to make me their bitch?

A turbulent of nausea wreaked havoc. “I need to get out of here.” Throwing my legs over the bed, I staggered to my feet, made a short journey to the metal enclosure and grasped the poles with gripping hands. “I can’t stay here!” I yelled, studying the locked door disparagingly. “Please, I will die. And this isn’t a wishful stunt or desperate act.” Shaking the bars with vigorous strength, I choked on an inhaled breath, undesired tears flooding my eyes. “I can’t breathe.”

Releasing the guard rail, clutching my throat, I inhaled short, sharp breaths, failing to calm my frantic breathing. “Oh, shit,” I moaned, putting my back to the enclosure, sliding down the cold metal, slumping on the floor. “In…and…” I can’t do it, I thought, whacking the back of my head to the railings, inwardly scolding myself for being so weak. “Help…”

I heard the room door unbolt and thanked my lucky stars. I wanted to face the guard, admit my sins and repent just to get out of this hellhole. While wrestling for oxygen, I’d sell organs to refuel my lungs, to alleviate this benumbing, immobilising quandary that persistently controls my life.

“Alexa, breathe,” Liam whispered behind me, and a stuttered sob fell from my lips. His arms snaked through the obstructing bars and curled across my waist, tugging me close. “In and out, baby.”

Nodding, I latched my hands to his forearms, wishing this impenetrable wall would disappear so that I could wrap myself in his arms, where I belong. “Liam…” It’s not working, I thought, chest heaving, fear rippling through my ice-cold veins.

“Slow,” he coaxed, withdrawing the hood from my head, freeing me from the flimsy shield I hoped would protect me. “Alexa, breathe.” His agitated voice sliced through me, rending me to awareness, compelling me to conquer those ever residing demons. “Fuck’s sake.”

In a brusque fashion, Liam tugged me into stance, face-to-face, haphazardly eradicating the hoodie from my body. A soft, ever-present chill immediately sheathed my burning flesh, quelling my claustrophobic ambience.

“Liam,” I croaked, unable to see him through momentary impaired vision. “My…chest…”

His hands cleaved to my elbows, fingers painfully digging into my skin. “It’s not real,” he rasped, kissing my sweat-slicked forehead, growling deep in his chest. Wrapping my hair around his fist, he tore the roots, ripping an excruciating whimper from me. “Breathe, Alexa. I need you to fucking breathe.” Concentrating on the pain he inflicted, I shut my eyes, urging myself to steady my breathing. I inhaled a long, deep breath, and we respired in unison, accumulating each other’s air. “Good girl.”

“I feel…” Blowing out a stream of concerns, I dropped my head to the bar, hands falling to his waist, holding his belt. “Liam, I feel sick.”

“Are you speaking figuratively because of the situation, or do I need to call someone?”

“I don’t know,” I complained, rubbing sweat dews from my brows. “My stomach is in knots.”

Liam took hold of my waist, kneading my taut mid-section with his therapeutic thumbs. “Fuck, I hate this,” he said angrily, his body fused to the enclosure, desperate to reach me. “Look at me.”

I tilt my head back, chest collapsing with each strained breath. I stared deeply into his beautiful blue eyes, the sight of his despondency shattering my heart. “I am fine,” I lied, hating his pained features. “Don’t look at me like that, Liam. It hurts.”

“Like what?” he asked, his eyebrows cinching into a harsh frown. “Like a man in love? A man who, for the first time in his adult life, cannot control or capitalise a situation?” Gritting his teeth, he snatched my throat with gentle yet callous hands. Irked by the restrictions limiting our vicinity, he huffed out an impatient sigh, rolling his bottom lip between his teeth. “What are the charges?”

“I killed—”

His hand flattened over my mouth. “No, you didn’t,” he stressed, and I nodded obsequiously. “Play smart, Alexa.” His voice lowered to a hushed whisper. “Don’t let those bluecoat pricks put words in your mouth. They’ll twist and bend an admittance out of you if you don’t use this.” He tapped my temple with a pointed finger. “You did not kill anyone. You have no recollection of the man in question and when they throw times and dates in your face, hit them back with an alibi.” I leaned in, and he murmured a soft kiss to the tip of my nose. “You were with me. There is no concurrence, Alexa. You tell those motherfuckers that you were with Liam Warren. Let them come to me.”

His ruling felt like a knife to the throat. “No, I will not turn the heat onto you.”

Vehemence blazed in his cold eyes. “You have no choice.”

“Someone once told me that everybody has a choice,” I reminded him, slipping out of his firm hold. “Harming you, in any way shape or form, will never, ever, be a choice for me, so don’t you dare expect otherwise from me, Liam.”

“Foolish obdurateness means sentencing,” he said calmly, taunting me into submissiveness. “Is that what you want, baby?” He gripped the bars, resting his head between two poles, teasing me with those cynical eyes. “Can you handle that, day in and day out, fighting with life imprisoned inmates who got nothing to lose? Look at you,” he added sardonically, eyeing my slender frame with a hurtful glimmer of disapproval. “What do you weigh these days, Alexa? How much energy could you muster to fight off admirers.”

“Fuck you,” I retort, and he chuckled dryly. “Your weak mind games are futile, Liam. I made a choice. My choice is to protect you.”

“I don’t want your fucking protection,” he said vehemently, holding the bars with white-knuckled urgency. “Alexa, come here.”

“No.” Stubbornly persistent, I put my back to the filthy wall, keeping space between us.

“Fine.” Retreating a few steps, he thrust his hands into his trouser pockets. “I’ll just go out there and admit to shooting Wallace so we can be done with it.”

I smiled smugly. “Although I am not inclined to tell you Rohan’s cause of death, I wish you the best of luck with that bogus admittance.” I don’t even know how that man died. I mean, I am no saint. I brandished guns on impulsive occasions, but I know damn well that Rohan’s murder has to be from those funky looking vitals Jace gave me to inject our rich candidates. Either that or I’m seriously facing charges for a crime I did not commit.

If there weren’t a barrier between us, I am confident Liam would have charged at me by now. His eyes briefly wavered to my chest, reminding me of the flimsy lace bra I aimlessly clasped on before arrest. “I thought you didn’t remember the victim.”

“I don’t.” I genuinely do not recall anyone by the name of Rohan Wallace. “I do, however, recall each man I lured into hotel rooms, Liam. Not by name, though. If they show me an image, I am sure that I screwed up somewhere.” His gaze dashed to the rotating camera, fixed securely in the corner of the room. “Can they hear us?”

“No,” he assured, rubbing a hand over the scruff of his jaw. His arms dropped to his sides, the muscles in his shoulders, tight, stretching his white shirt. It’s only in that admiring moment that I belatedly discern his absent suit jacket. “Fuck.” Taking out his phone, he tapped the screen and placed it to his ear. “Vincent.” My interest piqued. “Do it.” Rudely ending the call while Vincent was in mid-conversation, he shoves the phone back in his pocket. “Stop being stubborn, Alexa. Come here.”

I pushed myself away from the wall, stopping millimetres away from the bars. “My decision isn’t an act of petulance, Liam. I just don’t want you caught in the crossfire.”

Returning to the enclosure, he weaved his arms into my cell, coiling them around my body, tight and unyielding. His lips brushed my earlobe. “They’ll interrogate you further,” he whispered, clinging to me like I’m his lifeline. “Only respond with short answers. Yes, sir. No, sir. Got it?”

“Yes.” Turning my head, I met his gaze, touching his lips with mine. “Mr Warren.”

Against his better judgment, he smiled against my mouth. “You admit to nothing. No matter what they throw at you. Don’t speak to anyone until my lawyer, Carl, is present. Trust Stevens to assist, but, at any point, if you feel uneasy by his involvement, withdraw and remain tight-lipped. Understand?”

I nod.

“I want to take you home,” he admits, and I’ve never heard him sound so vulnerable, so exposed for the sake of love. “I want you to be my forever, Alexa.”

Tears saturated my eyes. “Forever is a long time.”

“Not with you.” Respiring a shuddering breath, he kissed the corner of my lips, his fingers absently playing the piano along my spine, sprouting goosebumps across my arms and chest. “With you, forever isn’t long enough.”

Liam Warren has ruined me for any other man. “Liam?”

His eyes jerked up, colliding with mine. “Yes, baby?”

Composing myself, I slipped a dark strand of hair behind his ear. “Do you love me?”

“You have no idea.” His lips paid homage to my jawline. “No fucking idea how much you mean to me.” Someone knocked on the door, and he spat out another curse. “I can’t leave you here.”

“Yes, you can.” Cupping his face, I thumbed his honed cheekbones, assuring him with a genuine smile. “I have endured worse than a sordid cell and scripted vulgarity, Liam.”

“Don’t say that.” Clenching his jaw, he seized my wrists, his thumbs pressing down on my pulse. “I swear, Vincent better pull through or I’ll bury him.”

I have yet to inform Liam of Vincent’s involvement with City Hall’s bombing, or his departing admission. Telling Liam what his alleged brother said to me can wait, though. I sense this man’s already hanging on by a thin thread. “I trust him if you do.” For some unknown reason, my undying loyalty proceeds to astonish Liam. Expressionless, he watches me, searching for a crack in my armour, or possible deceit in my steadfast stare. “What?”

“I’m still trying to understand how I got so fucking lucky with you.” The door knocked once more, but Liam ignored it, pinching my chin with a thumb and forefinger, angling my head so that he could look deep into my eyes, unearthing whatever assurances desired. “I am not leaving this station without you.”

“Wait in the car,” I advised, knowing the metropolitan would provoke Liam into aggressive action, just to detain him. “Please, for me. Stay with Brad. Call your lawyer and please, for the love of God, get a bottle of vodka on standby.” My light teasing failed to assuage him. Shoulders uncoiling dejectedly, I picked up the discarded hoodie and redressed. “I love you, Liam,” I whispered, not looking at him. “It’s you who is clueless to the magnitude.”

Liam caught my elbow, drawing me close. “Then you better come home to me, Alexa, or I won’t be held accountable for any upheaval I may or may not cause.”

His frightening warning permeated our humid space. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I chanced to look at him, and dread paralysed me. “Do not hurt that man, Liam.”

“You mightn’t have filled the gaps, Alexa, but I am a perspicacious man who can read between the lines. This entire fucking mess has Jace’s name all over it.” He voiced my deepest concerns, a deathly promise darkening his expression. Pulling me flush to the railing, he bruised my lips with a firm kiss. “I fell in love. I didn’t grow soft. If anything happens to you that cunt will pay with his life.” Before I could protest, he shoved me away and stalked towards the door. “Keep your threats, Alexa. I am not a man to barter with.”

A suited male, who I am not familiar with, held open the door and closed it just as quickly, both men leaving me alone in this cold, isolated room. “Shit.”

Chapter 2

Alexa

Liam’s lawyer, Carl Miller, stands imperiously before me. He wears a pristine two-piece black suit and a white shirt, hair the darkest shade of chocolate brown, gelled stylishly to one side. While glimpsing at his white gold wristwatch, he adjusts his black-framed bifocals, his leather briefcase, immaculate with a touch of elegant fashion, rests readily on the floor.

To our right, an inexpressive, burly, well-built officer scrutinises our mute exchange, hands clasped above his groin.

Previously, Carl roused me from unattractive slumber, paying no mind to the dried dribble on my chin. He offered me a plastic cup, topped with ice-cold water, and asked me to trust him with my life. I mean, call me sceptical, but trusting people so unassumingly land me inside a cage, so for the first fifteen minutes of our private conversation, Carl grew irritated and impatient by my unresponsiveness and hard-faced demeanour.

“I cannot help someone, who is unwilling to let me fight on their behalf,” he had said to me. “I need your story, Alexa. Start from the very beginning—not a stone left unturned.”

I told Carl Miller my story. It started from my childhood, the family dynamics—or dysfunctions, rather—to the second Flamur Bajramovic took my hand and led me to eternal suffering. We discussed the years I spent hidden beneath concrete floors and how my mother’s sweet, disembodied voice became my salvation.

In great length, I shared disturbing information regarding my abuse and how those ghastly shadows unremittingly affected my life. Not once did he raise a pen or scribble down notes, which I found somewhat concerning, but his eyes never strayed. He digested my confessions, wordless yet nodding frequently, conceptualising how I went from a young girl, running away from her chambers, Kathy in tow, to a young woman, losing her sister, finding Liam Warren, and meeting the Suits.

In-depth, I admitted how Jace betrayed our short-lived friendship to conspire my recent abduction with an old demon. “His hands were tied,” I had told Carl, explaining how Rezart and his men helped Bajramovic kidnap Summer Williams. “I forgave Jace the second I discerned his fight for his daughter.” In actuality, I admire Jace. I wish my father had cared enough to protect me. No, Patrick Haines signed me away to the devil unremorsefully and then drove for over two hundred and sixty miles from Cornwall to London to start a new life, without the people he was supposed to love unconditionally.

After my long, tiresome background conversation, I sat back, arms folded, awaiting Carl’s response. “You let me do all the talking,” he had advised me, completely overlooking the two hours spent sharing disturbing truths. “And no matter what happens, do not over-elaborate your involvement with Mr Warren.”

Dumbfounded, I gave him a curt nod, pondering whether the man had hyperthymesia, or he was plain ignorant.

Presently, while chewing off my bastard fingernails, I watch Carl absently tap his polished leather shoe against the floor. Dreading whatever the metropolitan gleefully formulated in order to chuck the law book at my head, I blow my cheeks out and turn my head in time to see two formally dressed detectives stride down the echoing corridor: one statuesque blonde bombshell with legs for days and a handsome male who busies his hands with two time-worn folders.

Surreptitiously, Carl slipped me a “we got this” look, which, unfortunately, didn’t comfort me. He sets a reassuring hand on my lower back, coaxing me to follow the interviewing inspectors inside the heated yet ventilated room.

Sitting on a metal chair and facing interrogation is not new for me. I encountered this moment before, sweating under pressure, when I soared from hell, reliving the heinousness of my past and the heavy chains that once shackled my sheer existence.

“Detective Taylor Johnson,” the beautiful female introduced herself, gesturing flippantly to her co-worker. “My partner. Donny Stevens.”

My eyes automatically shot to Donny, the one who belongs to our mysterious Vincent. Liam advised me to trust my gut when entering uncharted territory. Still, Donny has yet to make direct eye contact with me, so reading this situation may be more challenging than I initially thought.

Carl signals for me to become seated around a steel rectangle table and then he joins me, unclipping his briefcase, setting a leather-bound book in front of him.

Carefully slipping onto a chair, opposite Donny, in eye view of Johnson, I fold my hands onto my lap, fingers stumbling with the frayed tassels of Liam’s jogging bottoms.

Taylor Johnson unbuttons her peach coloured blazer and drapes it over the back of her chair. “Digital interview room to ensue admissible evidence,” she said, pointing to a camcorder, fixed to the ceiling. “Recording to discuss the crime, you, Miss Haines, are suspected of. You do not have to answer our questions, but there could be consequences if you don’t.”

“You do not have to say anything,” Donny continues, lifting his gaze to mine, and it is in our knowing staring competition that I perceived his handsome features. “But it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given as evidence.”

Donny’s more than fine-looking. He is breathtakingly beautiful, unfaltering masculinity, strong, sharp jawline, dark locks to compliment his fierce gaze. His thick, transfixing lips, capturing my attention as he mouthed Miranda rights.

Blinking myself back to the interview, I wait for Carl to intercede, but the pointless man simply sits there, fingering the circumference of his water glass.

Great. I am screwed.

“Miss Haines,” Taylor begins, opening a folder and splaying notes. “Are you familiar with the name Rohan Wallace?”

Carl noiselessly taps a finger on the table, permitting me to answer.

Leaning in, I spoke into the imaginary microphone. “No.”

“According to a credible eyewitness, who’s prepared to make a testimony in the court of law, if required, you, operating incognito, spent many evenings at a certain hotel bar, entertaining male guests.”

Positioning his forearms onto the table, Carl laced his fingers together. “Was that a question, or an act of oppression, Detective?”

Oh, well, there might be hope for me yet.

Smirking, Taylor cleared her throat. “Miss Haines, you faked your death, correct?”

Carl tapped the table twice, giving me free rein.

Straight for the jugular, I thought. “No, I did not fake my death.”

Her left eye twitched at my response. “Why weren’t you home the night of the fire?”

Jesus, it’s like she wanted me to burn in flames, the impossible bitch. “I was celebrating my partner’s thirtieth.”

“At Club 11?” she prompted, lips mashing in a grim line. “Liam Warren?”

Taking a sip of water to slake thirst, Carl put one finger on the table, another unspoken order to answer the wench’s questions.

I nod. “Yes.”

Pleased by my admittance, Taylor passed Donny an unreadable glance, curving a defined eyebrow. “And how long have you been dating Liam Warren?”

“This line of questioning is irrelevant,” Carl interjects, loosening his silk tie. “You have detained my client for almost twenty-two hours. Do you have sufficient evidence to make a decision?”

Furious by Carl’s question, Taylor closed a folder and opened another. “We have CCTV footage of Miss Haines, exiting the bar and entering a private suite with Mr Wallace, the night he was murdered.”

Before Taylor can present the evidence, Carl snatched the printed image from her hand and thoughtfully examined details. “This woman has absolutely no resemblances to my client.” He set the photo down, and I eyed it, stomach pivoting when recognising the male in question. “I hope you have more than faded imagery and an incredible barman who spends working hours sleeping with female customers than doing his damn job. Need I remind you, Detectives, hearsay is inadmissible at Crown Prosecution. In fact, I am inclined to ask which incompetent Judge at Magistrates authorised an arrest warrant, without probable cause?”

And I am inclined to choke on my initial doubts.

This man is a bloody genius.

“Why did you escort Mr Wallace to a private suite, Miss Haines?” she asked, ignoring Carl’s harangue. “His wife made a statement that her husband was having an affair. She also claims her husband made an unusual bank transfer on the night he died, wiring money to an offshore account. Do you know anything about that?”

Carl levelled his palm on the table.

“Again, I have no idea who Rohan Wallace is, nor did I have an affair with a married man.”

“Where, in my question, did I insinuate it was you that carried on with a married man, Miss Haines?”

Oh, she’s playing a mean game. “You said, Rohan’s wife mentioned infidelities. Am I to presume you weren’t implying that his clandestine love interest wasn’t me? Considering the fact it is me you’re interrogating?”

Watching me knowingly, Donny leaned back in his chair, infuriatingly clicking the top of his pen. “Do you deny sleeping with a married man?”

“I deny sleeping with anyone who isn’t Liam,” I retort, and the corner of his lip twitched. “I am spoken for, detective. Have you met my partner?” Curving a deriding brow, I raked my eyes over the pair of them. “I’d hardly get a good spanking from Liam for fucking another man.”

Carl choked on his water, rubbing the irritation from his chest. “My client denies any involvement with the victim.”

“Perhaps your hellacious lover interceded?” Taylor mused, regaining my full attention. “Is it possible your untamable partner knew of your straying, Miss Haines, and took it upon himself to discard Mr Wallace?”

“Subjective,” Carl barked. “Again, detective, I remind you that hearsay and unsolicited opinions are inadmissible in court. Leave whatever vendetta you have against Mr Warren at the door and do your damn job.”

Positioning her elbows onto the table, Taylor contoured her sculpted jawline with a sharpened fingernail. “Incarcerating that criminal is the precision of the law.”

“Then why isn’t he sitting here, attending this interview?” Carl sought Donny with quizzical eyes. “You are not following evidentiary procedures, detective. Dare I imply an ulterior motive? Inclination urges me to question the victim’s so-called pathologist examination. Where are the notes? I’d like to read them. I am beginning to wonder if this apparent murder is nothing but a deceptive trick to beguile my client to vocalise panicked confessions.”

Taylor fumed, curling her hands into tight fists. “You are in no position to make such imperious demands.”

“And you are in no position to use a vulnerable woman’s fragile state of mind, Miss Johnson. Ask procedural questions and make a decision. Either charge Miss Haines or get the release form so that we can be on our merry way.” I thought he had finished, but the man stood, fusing two palms to the cold table. “Unlawful interrogation,” he glimpsed at his wristwatch, “by detective Taylor Johnson at eight forty-seven p.m. to inveigle my client into a potential concession or bargaining chip.”

“That’s enough,” she said furiously, turning off the recording device. “Sit down, Mr Miller.”

Diverting his stare to the camcorder, he tucked his hands into his trouser pockets. “Miss Johnson’s misleading my client by using tyrannical tactics in the hope she’ll accept a plea bargain in exchange for a renowned criminal.”

“I beg your pardon!” Abruptly shooting from the chair, she matched his dominating stance. “I have yet to offer Miss Haines anything, Miller—”

“Of course, we had considered a plea bargain,” Donny says, and his furious partner shot him a disparaging look, in which he responded with an insouciant shoulder shrug. “Mr Miller is a man of the law, Taylor. He, of all people, recognises chicanery inducement. Let’s quit the theatrical omnishambles for a moment and cut to the chase already.”

Speechless, she twisted at the waist to uphold eye contact with him, strumming her painted fingernails on the chair rear. “What are you doing?” she hissed, lowering her voice to a hollow whisper. “Can we step outside?”

“Miss Haines?” Donny stood, and I found myself synchronising, not wanting to be the only person parked on a chair. “I’d like a moment alone with you.”

“Absolutely not,” Carl snapped, and Taylor, agreeing with him for the first time since the interview began, nodded vehemently. “All questions must cease without an attorney present.”

“It’s fine,” I agreed, and Carl flung me a double-take. “Honestly, Carl, the hostility between you and detective Johnson gives me a serious case of whiplash, anyway,” I half-joked, but he didn’t find me remotely funny. “I’ll accept, detective.”

Pleased, Donny unlocked the room door and gestured for Taylor and Carl to leave. Stuck-up and scorned, Taylor stormed out of the room, not hanging around for Carl, who reluctantly closed his briefcase, setting it on the chair for when he returned. He left the room, too, and Donny closed the door silently behind them. He put his spine to the wall, using his tongue to stretch a pink chewing gum in his mouth, the loud pop resounding around the room. “Do you need a cold drink? A sandwich perhaps?”

I couldn’t think of anything worse than stuffing my face or scarfing down carbohydrates. “No, I’m good.”

He eyed the camcorder. “I muted it beforehand,” he said, pushing himself away from the wall to stand in front of me. “It’s unnerving.”

My forehead furrowed. “What is?”

“Standing this close to Warren’s prize possession,” he joshed, and my eyes narrowed. “He’d slaughter me for admiring you. You know that, right?”

Was that a trick question?

I stepped back, generating a comfortable distance between us. “I am not discussing Liam with anyone.”

“Carl’s correct. Law enforcement wants Warren on the stand. Understandable. The man has caused an unlawful ruckus for many years. Who better than you to lure him out of the shadows?”

I regard him warily. “I’d kill myself before I let anything happen to him.”

What looked like respect flared in his watchful eyes. “Vincent speaks very highly of you.”

“Mr Smith?” I joked, and puzzlement etched his features. “Where is my dark knight?” Flicking my eyes to the closed door, I rounded the chair and grasped the back of it. “He’s here, isn’t he?”

Donny scratched his chin. “He might be downstairs, waiting for me to deliver updates.”

I wanted to ask so many questions.

Where did Vincent come from?

Why wasn’t Liam privy to his brother’s existence?

Why did Vincent follow me the night of The Mayor’s attack?

“Helping me for Liam’s acceptance won’t work, Donny. I know that man. He’s not one to yield.”

“Not even for you?”

I smiled at that. “He’d raise hell on earth for me, but he’s not a man to barter with. I assume Vincent believes that by helping me, it’ll gain him a relationship with his alleged brother.”

Donny lowered his guard, allowing me to see the truth in his eyes. “He’s hopeful, yes.”

I thought as much. In fact, I wished to go back in time to pummel Vincent for past mendacity. “I hate when people use me,” I said, masking my disappointment with a hardened glare. “I was foolish to believe he appreciated a vodka buddy.”

Clueless to my nostalgia, Donny yanked back a chair and became seated. “May I speak off the record?”

I laughed, low and throatily. “I’m pretty sure this entire exchange is ‘off the record’, detective.”

“Vincent’s rather fond of you,” he admits, though, I don’t know what to believe these days. “I think he’d help you regardless of Warren. You must have made quite the impression.” His eyes inventoried the baggy clothes drowning my physique. “Don’t accept a plea deal, Alexa. Carl’s right. We have insufficient evidence and an unreliable witness. Taylor believed you’d squirm under pressure and sail Warren up the river. This evening, you demonstrated resilience and strength. Sustain that when she comes back, stand your ground, deny everything and sign the release forms.”

My arms folded. “Under what advice?”

“We must advise that you do not leave the country while continuing the investigation. Plus a little birdy informed me that a woman’s downstairs, giving a confessional statement.” My frown sharpened. “Money always wins, Alexa.”

“Liam paid someone to admit to a crime she did not commit?” I asked, completely dumbfounded. “That’s insane.”

“No, Vincent paid someone to admit a night of drugs, sex and alcohol. It’s likely that she’s opened the floodgates and howled devastating lies in exchange for a hefty settlement.”

“An inaccessible payment.”

“She’ll be unfortunate to get manslaughter charges.” He dropped his legs and stood. “Depending on the evidence, she might even receive a slap on the wrist and rehabilitation.” Jerking a careless shoulder, he popped another chewing gum bubble. “How can we prove that Wallace hadn’t willingly imbibed drugs and overdosed, Alexa? Too many grey areas.”

I scoffed at the audacity. “Oh, but if she didn’t confess to the crime, I’d be facing first-degree murder charges?”

His cocky smirk oddly pacified me. “The disadvantages of dating Warren.”

“Being his woman has its perks.” We detected a crescendo of raised voices and turned our heads in tandem to watch a maddened Taylor gait into the room. “She looks pissed—”

“Infuriated,” she corrected with unnecessary bitterness, and my eyebrows bounced to my hairline. “How does he do it, Haines? How do you sleep at night, knowing of his monstrous capabilities?” Stationing herself before me, she stole my breathing space, her floral perfume invading my senses. “Answer me!”

I feigned dumb. “Who?”

“You know exactly who I am referring to,” she argued, pointing a finger in my face. “Warren.”

Carl sighed in frustration and grabbed his briefcase, ready to leave. He shared an impatient look with Donny, who’s rubbing his tired eyes, both men keen to wrap-up this entire ordeal.

“If you’re so fascinated by Liam, why don’t you ask him these questions personally?” I hinted, and her smugness plummeted. “Oh, that’s right. You can’t.” Leaning in, I brushed my lips to her ear. “Not unless you want to lose your tongue.”

Her throat bobbed. “Is that a threat?”

My cheeks ached from smiling so hard. I accepted a piece of paper from Carl, not reading the small print, and signed the dotted line, finalising my release. “A friendly warning.”

“I didn’t know Warren authorised people speaking on his behalf,” she added argumentatively, settling a hand to her hip.

“I think we all know that I’m not just some nobody, Taylor.” Tossing the pen down, I tucked wayward hair behind my ears and levelled her with my intense stare. “I’m Alexa Haines, the woman Liam Warren chose to fall in love with. You won’t go far wrong in life by remembering that.”

Before another word passed her venomous mouth, I followed Carl out of the room, avoiding Donny’s vigilant gaze as the four of us parted ways. Too many curious officers watched as I snaked through the corridors, but I kept my eyes ahead and held my breath until the cold winter winds blew across my face.

“This is me,” said Carl, wiping his glasses with a black cloth. “Do you need a ride home?”

I granted myself a few minutes to watch omnipresent traffic outside the station. “No, Somebody’s waiting for me.”

Shaking my hand, Carl mumbled a goodbye and descended the few concrete steps, towards his parked vehicle. He chucked his briefcase into the boot of a black Mercedes and offered a friendly wave before accelerating into the night.

Exhaling a calm breath, I strode down the steps, eyes searching for the familiar Bentleys. I reached the curbside, pondering whether Liam left me unattended after all when horripilation clambered my spine.

Teeth sinking into my lower lip, I spun around and located him, Liam. Expressionless and unapproachable, he stood at the bottom of the steps, ignoring everything and everyone circling us. His ice-blue eyes held mine, not a word passing his lips.

Confused by his indifference, I tilted my head back and stared at the night sky, the twinkling stars, comforting and evoking pleasant memories of my childhood. I felt a gentle spatter of rain on my cheek and closed my eyes before pushing myself away from the wandering pedestrians and running to the man I love.

Smiling like a madwoman, I stumbled my footing, jumping straight into his awaiting arms, wrapping my arms and legs around his stationed body. “I thought you left me.”

Liam buried his head in the nape of my neck, keeping me in his firm hold. “Never.”

While embracing each other, I noticed a tall silhouette across the road, witnessing our exchange. I didn’t need to see the man’s face to know it was Vincent; I recognised his black trench coat as he disappeared down the alleyway.

Shutting my eyes, I fisted the back of Liam’s hair, too scared to let go. “They wanted you, Liam,” I whispered, and his arms around me loosened. “I was just a pawn in their twisted game.”

Huffing out a wearisome breath, Liam lowered my feet to the floor, but kept an arm around my back, maintaining our closeness. He dropped his gaze, capturing my eyes—stealing my breath.

“Liam, I love you,” I said without a second thought, mesmerised by his all-consuming handsomeness. “It’s dangerous.”

That earned me a rare smile. He laced our fingers together. His gold rings cold to my skin. “I shan’t waste energy discussing inferiors, Alexa. Having the law breathing down my neck isn’t new to me.” Bringing our joint hands to his lips, he lingered an affectionate kiss to my knuckles. “There is much to deliberate, but, for now, I want a night alone with you…” An unstated issue died in his hushed voice.

I swallowed a tight lump, dislodging the pain in my throat. “That sounded like an impending goodbye.”

“Don’t do that.” His hand around mine tautened, preventing me from walking away. “It’s never goodbye. Not with you.” His mouth met my shoulder, and I heard him inhale. “You have this wild look in your eyes, Alexa. I fear it is you who’ll leave me.”

I’d never felt so nonplussed. “Where am I going, Liam?”

He shook his head, refusing to express whatever concerns weighed him down. “What food should I order?” he asked, uprooting his phone. “Chinese? Thai?”

“A hot dog,” I said, and his eyebrows snapped together. “What? I fancy mustard and onions. Got a problem with that, Mr Warren?”

“That’s the most disgusting combination ever to insult my ears.” He led us down the street, standing out like a sore thumb amongst commuters. “I’ll take you to The Grape and Vine. Will can make you one.”

“No,” I protested, linking my arm through his. “There’s a burger van down the road. Let’s buy one from there.” He looked repulsed by the idea. “Liam, I don’t want a gourmet hot dog decorated in needless parsley. I want a big sausage…” His arrogant smirk had my eyes rolling. “You are incorrigible! Not everything is about you—” He hauled me close, tearing an impromptu giggle from me. “Must you be a caveman?”

“Caveman?” he repeated, unexpectedly reaching down to snatch my legs.

“Liam, don’t you dare—” He flung me over his shoulder like a boneless rag doll, landing a harsh slap to my backside. “Oh, God. I am going to murder you. Put me down.” Heat soared to my face. “People are looking.”

“Fuck them,” he thundered, and I hid my head on his back, mortified. “We want a big sausage,” he tells someone, I belatedly realised the smell of heady foods permeating the chilled air. “Hide the mustard.”

“No, don’t hide the mustard,” I spoke up, wriggling to lift my head. “Slap some ketchup on there, too.”

Revolted, Liam returned my feet to terra firma, patting his pockets for his wallet.

I speared a hand through my dishevelled hair, smiling apologetically to gathered customers, who stood patiently at the sidelines waiting for their food. Judging by their angered expressions, Liam rudely pushed ahead of the queue.

Inside the parked food truck, the older male prepared my hot dog, wiping his greasy hands with a stained apron. “Anything else?” he asked, and Liam gave the man an imperceptible shake of the head. “Nine pounds twenty-five.”

“For a fucking hot dog?” Liam asked, and the guy groaned a response. “Robbing bastard.” I no longer had the energy to castigate Liam for rudeness. He tossed the man a twenty-pound note and handed me a delicious-looking hot dog. Satisfied by my eagerness to eat, he walked alongside me, lighting a cigarette. “Good?”

Licking sauce from my lips, I nodded, offering him a bite. “Want some?” His mouth twisted in aversion. “How can you claim to hate something without tasting it first?” One of Liam’s Bentleys raced passed us, and I knew by his choice of music, Nate was the speeding driver. “Are they following us?”

Liam dipped his head.

“Where are we going? I smell like an old man’s socks. A shower will suffice.”

“We can stay at Heather’s,” he suggested, and dread filled my tightening chest. “What?”

Jace lives at heather’s bed-and-breakfast. “Why not the penthouse?”

Masquerading his features, he respired smoke to the dark sky, pondering a response. “Fancied a change of scenery.”

I stopped walking. “You love the penthouse.”

“Correct.” He didn’t elaborate further.

“You spurned the guesthouse, so why the change of heart?” Again, he chose not to answer. “Why must there be lies between us?”

“Why do you assume deceitfulness, Alexa?” He lost his cigarette to the floor, putting it out under his shoe. “Must everything in life be a conspiracy?”

I opened my mouth to respond, when someone collided into my back, knocking the half-eaten hot dog out of my hand. It rolled across the floor, and I watched, wide-eyed and soul-destroyed.

“I am so sorry.” Came a sweet female voice. “I was on my phone and wasn’t—”

“Watch where you’re fucking going,” Liam reprimanded, seizing my elbow, bringing me to his side. “What, you got nothing to say now?”

I chanced to look at her and wished I hadn’t. Stood elegantly in the world’s sexiest high heeled shoes, a blonde-haired woman, wearing a tight, figure-hugging purple dress studied Liam in what appeared to be a shocked manner. I mean, he wasn’t ogling her. He’d been cruel with his approach, but she was stunning—beautiful, so, in his defence, it’s not easy to look away. It reminded me how horrendous I looked next to this handsome, tailored man and the head-turning goddess opposite.

“I do apologise,” she said, floundering with her bag. “I can buy you another hot dog.”

Okay, well, she came off friendly initially, but that last comment felt a little deriding.

Was she making fun of me? I am not apposed to retrieving that mangled-up hot dog and ramming the reminder down her throat.

“Don’t I know you?” she asked him, and the muscles in my body became tense, rigid. “I recognise you from somewhere.”

I glimpsed between them, waiting for his response.

Liam never betrays himself, though. Even if he had known this woman before our collision, he’d never reveal it. “I’ve never seen you before in my life,” he clipped, and I wasn’t sure if I believed him. “You can fuck off now.”

She ignored his harshness. “No, I have definitely met you before,” she insisted. “You’re the nightclub owner, right?” Her eyes sliced, a twinkle of excitement in those green depths. “Warren.”

“Okay, now that we have determined you remember his face from somewhere,” I snatch his hand, prompting him to walk—the irredeemable man hadn’t budged. “Can we leave, please?” I was sick with ridiculous jealousy. Is there any female in London that he hasn’t slept with? “Liam?”

“You remember?” she probed, and he appeared unsure for a few seconds. “You invited me to your office and we fooled around on your desk—”

“Enough,” he said intolerantly. “In case you hadn’t noticed, I am standing here with a date.”

“A date?” I repeated in disbelief. “I’m his girlfriend, actually.” When her lips flattened, he grimaced, and dejection deflated my chest. “Oh, it’s like that?” Releasing his hand, I pushed myself between their “lovers spats” and drove ahead. “Call me never, asshole.”

“Alexa, wait,” he called, and I overheard their short conversation before the sound of his shoes echoed as he gravitated towards me. He gripped my arm. “Baby—”

“Don’t, Liam.” Shirking his hand off my arm, I rounded the street corner, wanting to take his kneecaps for being so disrespectful, especially with another female present. “I’m going home.”

“Your home is with me,” he argued, not backing down. He captured me once more, forcing me to come to an immediate stop. “Alexa.”

“Do I embarrass you?” I asked aloud, handling him face-on. “Why did you insinuate I was only a date, Liam?”

“I am almost thirty-one years of age,” he said, and I couldn’t comprehend his logic. “Saying that you’re my girlfriend sounded juvenile.” Slightly appeased, I rein my neck in…somewhat. “You could never embarrass me, Alexa. I worship the ground you walk on.”

I bit the inside of my cheek to prevent a shy smile. “She was smitten with you.”

Liam’s gaze drifted past my head. The unnamed woman wanders across the road. Even as she walks ahead, she’s yet to derail her admiring watchfulness from him. I was half-tempted to throw her the middle finger but resigned to being mature instead.

“I don’t recognise her,” he said, failing to convince me. “I’d remember her if I did.” My shoulders drooped despondently, and he cursed. “I never meant that she’s worth remembering, Alexa. For fuck’s sake, I cannot get it right with you tonight.”

“Liam,” I whispered, curling my arms around his neck. “Look at me.” At my command, his eyes crashed into mine, cold and penetrating. “Do you love me?”

Forgetting the blonde beauty, Liam smiled against my lips and rasped, “Always.” I nipped his bottom lip, and he hissed, tugging me in, putting us chest-to-chest. “I need you and a bed in the next five minutes, or else I’ll be fucking you against this wall.”

Fervour surged through me. I prepared to accept that offer when a sharp twinge pierced my side. Mouth salivating, I licked my suddenly dry lips and inhaled a deep breath through my nose.

Noticing my delayed response, Liam lifted his head and frowned. “What’s wrong?” His eyes toured my face. “Are you okay? You look pale.”

“Liam, I think…” Stomach coiling into knots, I shoved him aside, slapped a hand to the wall and emptied the lining of my stomach in an embarrassingly violent state. “Oh, shit,” I whimpered, doubling over at the waist, vomit spattering on the floor. “That guy poisoned my hot dog.”

Liam was behind me in a flash, gathering my hair around his fist. “Fuck,” he growled, rubbing my back as I dry heaved.

I wanted to die. “I cannot believe I puked in front of you.” I am sure it wasn’t the first time he had witnessed me like this, but still, discomfited would be an understatement. “Erase this from your memory.” Straightening my back, I wiped my lips with the hoodie sleeve. “I really need that shower now.”

He unlocked his phone and typed a text message to one of the Suits. “Why don’t we settle for a hotel?”

That sounded fantastic.

I faced him, a coquettish smile dancing on my lips. “Will there be lots of sex?”

Liam stared at me like I was the only woman that roamed the earth. He held out his hand, and I slipped my palm atop his. “I’m in love with you.”

My smile waned, seriousness replacing light teasing.

“Come,” he tempted, walking backwards and bringing me with him. “We have lost time to make up for.”

I’d never survive life without him.

Chapter 3

Alexa

Death by multiple orgasms existed.

“Oh, shit,” I squealed, clamping my thighs together, crushing Liam’s head. “You’re going to kill me.”

His rough palms snatched the apex of my thighs. “Open for me,” he mumbled against my soaked sex, pushing my legs wider. “Good girl.”

Spine anchoring off the mattress, I slackened my legs, confusedly wanting him to devour me. “Don’t stop,” I moaned, repositioning onto my elbows so that I could watch him pleasuring me. “Liam…”

He was on the bed, kneeling before me in his gloriously naked dominance. His sculpted, muscular body slicked in a fine layer of sweat.

What did I do to deserve such a fine specimen of a man?

Suckling me into his mouth, he nibbled my aching clit, tongue stroking within my wet folds. I reached up and cupped my breast, caressing and tweaking my taut nipple.

Watching me with a fascinated glint in his heavy-lidded eyes, he sat taller and rested back on his haunches, shaft hanging heavily between his bunched-up thighs, the thick, angry veins meeting at his swollen crown, where a small bead of pre-ejaculate, teasing me to taste him.

I shifted onto my knees in front of him and smoothed my hands over his defined chest, stopping at his strong shoulders.

Inching closer, he nudged my nose with his, smiling like a lovesick fool. “I don’t believe you ever looked more beautiful,” he exclaims, and my cheeks reddened. “Keep gawking at my cock like that, and I’ll be forced to make you choke on it.”

My mouth parted at his crass words. “You wouldn’t.”

“Do you not know me at all, Alexa?” Fingers tangling through my hair, he angled my head back and snaked an arm around my waist, pinning me to him. “I am a man of my word.”

I had no response. Instead, my foolish smile mirrored his, and I leaned in to kiss those full, arousal-tasting lips. The second our tongues connected, the incredibly powerful organ beneath my breastbone palpitated, reminding me just how much this man affected me.

Growling throatily into my mouth, Liam cunningly overpowered my frame, burying me beneath him as he crawled above me. Not once, did he lift his mouth from mine, his kiss was scorching, burning me up from the inside, consuming my body, mind and soul. “I want you,” he groaned, positioning his forearms on either side of my head, bracing himself. “Fuck, I need you.”

“I’d never outlive another round,” I teased, slowly licking the seam of his mouth. “Shit, Liam. You have ruined me for any other man—” His hand seized my hip bone, fingers painfully squeezing, applying unwarranted pressure. “Liam! What was that for?”

“Do not fuck with my head, Alexa,” he said in an authoritative voice that I knew to take seriously. “I’ll kill any man who dares to touch what belongs to me.”

His declaration of violence shouldn’t excite me, but his enthralling possessiveness heated my blood. “I hope these irrational rules also apply to me, Mr Warren.”

Liam’s lips hovered beneath the shell of my ear. I could practically hear his ambivalent thought process as he considered a good comeback. “Elaborate.”

I suppressed an eye-roll. “I am not against disembowelment for any woman who sets her claws on my man.”

“Your man,” he rasped, a touch of satisfaction in his baritone voice. “Your jealousy knows no bounds, baby.”

Oh, he’s such a double-standard bastard.

I moved my head to look at him, noting his stifled smirk. “Tell me you’re joking.”

“Never.” Gripping my wrists, he pinned my arms above my head and smashed his lips over mine, stealing the air that I breathe. “Baby.”

All is forgotten.

Caged inside the thrall of his protective arms, I wrapped my legs across his waist and fused his body to mine, immersing myself in this borrowed moment between us. There’s no denying how much Liam and I love each other, but life and its quandaries have its way of hindering our romance. It’s never uncomplicated, stress-free or unperturbed. When alone time commences, I seize the opportunity with both hands and cling to each kiss, touch and whisper as though it’s our last—before the syndicate ruptures or adversaries rain acidity over our breakable bubble and ruin our sacred time together.

Foggily, I heard the tear of a condom wrapper. He sheathed his elongating length and entered me for the innumerable time since we checked into this five-star hotel last night. “Liam,” I cried, fingernails raking down his spine.

Knees at the underside of my thighs, he shoved my legs apart, widening me for him and then fucked me mercilessly, driving his thick, hard cock in-and-out, hitting the perfected spot of euphoria.

Honestly, I didn’t think I could endure another sex session. Yesterday, on arrival, Liam met with Nate inside the hotel lobby and collected an overnight bag for us. He had ordered me to take the key card and meet him in our room, but I am a defiant mare who hid at the bar as an alternative. I am guilty of drinking an inexhaustible supply of neat vodkas before obeying this man. Once I refuelled with necessitous liquid courage, I stumbled into our luxurious suite, showered and scrubbed any memory of impermeant confinement from my skin, swaddled myself in the fluffiest white towel and face-planted the bed.

I slept like a baby until the door cracked open and a soft glow filtered into the room. Liam entered quietly, showered and sat in a towel on the regal red and gilded chair, occupying his phone. His thumbs tapped furiously at the screen, and I knew, just by the tenseness in his shoulders, something was terribly wrong. I never asked questions, though. The man has maddening traits, and hiding issues inside an indomitable mason jar is one of them. You cannot force him to share his problems or offload. If he wants to talk, he will do so, when he’s good and ready.

Rather than add to Liam’s worries, I rolled onto my back and gently tapped the mattress, mutely inviting him to join me. Turning his phone on silent and putting it face down on the antique-looking sideboard, he lost his towel to the floor and fell beside me. What had knocked the wind from my lungs, though, was his desire to hold me. In our momentary embrace, he rested his head on my chest, listening to my regular heartbeat as he held me. Albeit vulnerable, he welcomed my fingernails tickling the nape of his neck and watched the soft rain, dancing on the windowpane.

Of course, sex soon followed. Liam’s a warm-blooded male with debatable libidinousness. His high sex drive unquestionably outweighs my need for pleasure, but once his mouth finds mine, I’m a lost cause.

“Alexa, you are the bane of my goddamn life,” he moaned into the nook of my neck, burying himself inside me, “but the key to my entire existence.”

Tangled within the sheets, we matched each other’s thrusts. Adjusting to his thickness, I enveloped my arms around his shoulders. He pulled back a touch and then drove deeper, ripping a strangled moan from me. Erotic yet tender, he swiped his tongue through my mouth and bit down on my bottom lip, the muscles in his back flexing under my palms.

Clutching my waist with rough hands, he pounded into me with restrained vigour. I cried out as he filled me, pussy accommodating his punishing length. My grappling hands fell to the messy sheets, and I clung to them as a toe-curling wave passed through me.

Fastening a hand to my throat, Liam captured my orgasmic moan with a passionate kiss. His movements slowed. Back and forth, his hips moved between my thighs, prolonging the side-shattering eminence of my pinnacle.

With futile strength, I forced him to lie down and straddled his waist. He propped himself up against the crushed velvet headboard and gripped his heavy cock, stroking and teasing as he watched me position above him. His misted black hair irritated his brows, unruly but accentuating his harsh yet transfixing gaze. “You riding me, baby?”

Teeth set on my bottom lip, I fixed my hands to his shoulders and held his eyes with mine whilst he eased himself home. At the invasion, my walls tightened and engulfed his thickening shaft. Our eyes aligned, and I witnessed true adoration in those spellbinding blue orbs.

Settled on my knees, palms flat to his chest, I carefully rolled my hips, which granted me a guttural moan from him. Painfully full, I dipped my head to his shoulder and inhaled his incredible masculine scent. He twisted his neck to find my gaze and kissed my lips, soft, gentle and unhurried. Fingers outlining the length of my spine, he clasped a hand on my ass, massaging one cheek.

I worked him long and deep, backside hitting his thighs. He left open mouth caresses along my neck, ravishing, sucking and biting my throat. Those large hands, coarse yet soul-consuming, palmed every inch of my back, the pads of his fingers, detailing delicately inked feathers and the intricate details Jace tattooed to my skin. “Do you hate it?” I asked, wondering if he secretly loathed the design I willingly chose to leave on my body permanently.

“No,” he said, squeezing the back of my neck. “I love everything about you, Alexa.” He shoved into me, and my lips parted on a strangled moan. He took my lowered guard as an invitation and pressed his mouth to mine. Skin-on-skin and dusted in perspiration, we entwined together as he entrenched himself. “Make me cum.”

I intentionally clenched around his pumping cock, tearing an involuntary moan from his lips. When Liam orgasms, it does something to me. It’s the way he loses himself, giving me all of him, in a fleeting moment of weakness. He throbbed, but he’d never leave me unsatiated, so his thumb located my hot bundle of nerves and he circled me there, coaxing me to fall over the precarious edge with him. Each stroke he delivered made me powerless and at his mercy. I lost the will to ride him and fell apart in his arms, crashing against intoxicated diversion. In three jerked spurts, he let go and released inside me. Even when temporarily deaf and blurry-eyed, I listened to his throaty moan and pressed my hand to his chest, feeling his thumping heart.

Liam dropped a chaste kiss to my shoulder and elevated me off him. I collapsed onto the bed and curled up, watching him soar to his full height. Tearing off the condom with a resounding snap, he locked the bathroom door behind him.

I was still coming down from my high when he returned. Tugging on a clean pair of boxer briefs, he popped a cigarette between his lips, set the end alight and opened a window. Stuffing a pillow over my chest, I positioned onto an elbow and fingered the imaginary lint on the comforter. “It’s a non-smoking hotel…”

Shrugging uncaringly, Liam blew a veil of smoke, chucking a lighter back on the dresser. “Sue me.”

I smiled fondly at him. “You’d kill anyone who tried to press charges against you.” He didn’t deny my assured statement. “Shall we order breakfast?” I mused, plucking up the laminated menu from the bedside table. “Do you want a Jameson?”

“Alexa it’s almost six o’clock in the evening,” he tells me, and my eyes rounded. “I’ll accept a whiskey though.”

Jesus, we fucked the day away. “Okay, let’s settle for something light then. I could definitely eat.”

“Likewise,” he said roughly, and my eyes jerked up at his flirtatious tone. “Never deny a man a good meal, Alexa.”

Discarding his sexual innuendo proved to be unachievable. “Haven’t you eaten enough?” I flirted in return, and the muscles in his jaw ticked. “Not that I’m complaining.” On the stand, his phone jittered with a text message. “Aren’t you going to check your phone?”

Pretending not to hear my question, Liam finished his cigarette and tossed it out the window. “I’ll head downstairs and order from the bar directly.” Opening the overnight bag, he fossicked for clean clothes. “Preference?” Dressing into a mouth-wateringly fashionable tracksuit, he fished out his keys and sneakily stuffed his phone away. “Vodka?”

I fumed. “Do you not trust me around your phone?” No, it wasn’t about trust. He’s going to reply to whatever needy moment-wrecker requires his attention, without my curiousness or inquisitiveness. “Asshole,” I huffed disbelievingly, flinging the duck feather pillow aside and clambering to my feet. “Maybe you can get lost whilst you’re down there—”

“Alexa,” he bites, taking my forearm in his hand. “Why must you cause an argument? We had a nice night, right?”

I wanted to slap him. “You’re acting shady. Why?”

“Who’s acting here?” he fired back, the insensitive human. “I never portray to be someone I’m not.”

My jaw hit the floor. “I want to know who’s messaging you.”

Schooling his angered features, he stomped into a brand new pair of trainers, strangling the white laces with every snap and knot. “No.”

“No,” I repeated, staring at him in utter shock. “You know what, Liam? Fuck you. I am not playing these games anymore.”

“The only person playing games is you.”

“Really?” Modesty and grace left in bed, I spun at the heel to face him. “Am I the one hiding my phone and keeping secrets, Liam? Is it me who’s ruining our time together by leaving our hotel room to message another woman, no doubt.” Panic briefly flashed in his eyes, and when he diverted his attention back to his trainers, he foolishly believed that I missed it. “You son of a bitch.”

Liam had zero tolerance for my upset. He abruptly stood and squared up to me, which caused me to second-guess my behaviour and stand down. I put my back to the wall, keeping a gap between us, unsure if I trusted the savage blaze in his cold eyes.

“Who’s texting you?” I asked in a hollow voice, tears springing to my eyes. “I refuse to share you, Liam.”

“It’s not like that, Alexa. Hellen,” he adds, and pure rage bubbled from the depth of my stomach. “She’s causing a few headaches. I’m trying to detach—gradually.”

“Detach?” Oh, I’ll detach them, alright. “Since when did Liam Warren care for some damsel’s emotions? You most certainly didn’t care about my feelings, Liam. Not when you broke my heart.”

Regret saturated his eyes. “It was different—”

“Different? How was treating me like shit different, Liam? You claim to care about me, yet you cast me off like an encumbering carcass. But Hellen’s receiving the charm, right? The whole ‘it’s not you—it’s me’ bullshit, huh?” When he didn’t refute my assumption, I saw nothing but crimson. “Liam, seriously?”

“She’s The Mayor’s daughter, Alexa. What do you want me to do? Drop her dead body in the Thames and hope the entire city won’t go looking for her? I have to play smart,” he continued, scratching the scruff of his jaw. “I need time to figure this out.”

“I will not sit back and watch you rendezvous with that woman.”

“Who’s asking you to? I am not interested in Hellen Bennet. The woman makes my fucking skin crawl.”

“Let me see the messages,” I interrupted, recalling how he lied to me once when texting her. What if he’s pulling the wool over my eyes again? “I need to see for myself.”

He stepped closer, and I put my hands out, stopping him from touching me. “We cannot build a relationship based on toxicity and lack of trust.”

I tilted my chin in defiance. “You make it a little difficult to trust you, Liam.”

There was a shift in his demeanour. He moved back, preparing himself for whatever argument that’s about to unfold. “What about you?”

Frowning in perplexity, I snatched one of his discarded T-shirts from off the floor and yanked it over my head. “What about me?”

“You talk about the lies between us, but you have yet to fill any gaps for me, Alexa.” We both knew this conversation had to occur at some point. I wasn’t quite ready to touch upon it, though. “Last I checked, my woman was spending the night at the penthouse with me. She didn’t return. In actuality, she died,” he said sarcastically. “Then she rose from the dead and whored herself out to another man—”

I slapped him, hard enough to sting my palm. “Don’t you dare call me a whore,” I whisper-shout, the pain in my glassy eyes evident. “Not everything in life is black-and-white, Liam.”

Glaring at me murderously, he rubbed his flared cheek. “What have I told you about fucking hitting me?”

“Call me a damn whore again and slap to the face will be the least of your worries.” Shouldering him with deliberate force, I ambled around the bed and grabbed leggings from the bag, dressing haphazardly. “You are such a walking contradiction, Liam. How can you insult anyone? I could fuck a different man every day of the week, and I still wouldn’t catch up to your philandering ways.”

His nostril flared. “Again, I have never denied the man that I am.”

Feeling truculent, I rolled black socks to my knees. “Yes, well, heaven forbid his lordship, recognises himself as a sleazy asshole.”

“I’m a sleazy asshole?” Tensing his shoulders, he invaded my breathing space, virtually shoving his face in mine. “I don’t pretend to be someone that I’m not, Alexa. You fell in love with me, immaterial to my ‘philandering ways’ and ‘no-fucks-given’ attitude. Unlike someone I know, who portrays to be a,” he gesticulated wildly at me, “damaged and timid woman with no voice—this shy, priggish person who cannot stomach the touch of a man, yet she willingly fucked someone who wasn’t me.”

It would be uncharacteristic for Liam not to go deep with insults. “How do you texting another woman behind my back, breach the topic of Jace?”

“Because you flounce around, feigning to be this perfected angel, blaming me for every cinch in our fucked-up relationship, when there are seedy skeletons in your closet!” he yelled angrily, scowling at me in a different light, a muddied, dirty light. “You’re no fucking saint, Alexa. So what if I keep Bennett sweet? I laboured myself with that bitch for you.”

“Oh, so now it’s my fault that you tripped and had sex with someone else? Smooth, Liam,” I snapped, searching for the trainers Nate packed. “Thank you for making love to someone who wasn’t me.” Adrenalised, I adopted gallantry and shot him a condemning glare. “I cannot express enough gratitude for your selfless services.”

Before I could grab the shoes, he ripped them from the bag and lunged them across the room. “Is that what you call it, huh? Making love? You think I made love to that woman—I fucked her,” he growled, painting a gruesome image of him touching Hellen. “Brutally and violently with unrequited love. Don’t confuse what she and I shared.” A resemblance of intolerable suffering angered his eyes. “Is that how it was for you two? Did you allow Him to ‘make love’ to you, baby?”

It wasn’t lovemaking, not with Jace, but our one-night together wasn’t meaningless, either. “What are we doing, Liam?” I whispered, ice disseminating through my trembling bones. “Why are we hurting each other?”

He comprehended my question and spewed a slew of expletives. “No good comes from covering cracks, Alexa. We had issues before you disappeared. You have questions; I have questions.” Shifting his Adam’s apple, he swallowed the knot in his throat. “We ignore uncertainties because we don’t want to argue…”

“Yet we argue regardless,” I finished for him, and he nodded in agreement. “Okay, well, let’s take the mature approach and address everything.” Parking my backside on the edge of the bed, I crossed my legs. “Who goes first?”

He jangled his keys. “Ladies first.”

Even when infuriated with him, I can’t help but smile. “Shall we order the alcohol first?”

Relieved, he removed his hoodie and dialled room service. “Send a bottle of Macallan to room eighty-three.” His softened gaze landed on my face. “Grey Goose, too.” Ending the call, he chucked the phone on the floor and folded his arms. “What do you need to know?”

I inhaled an encouraging breath. “Will you swear to uphold promises if I ask for leniency?”

Chapter 4

Liam

“Will you swear to uphold promises if I ask for leniency?” Alexa observed me intently, nervously anticipating my reaction. “Liam, please. I cannot talk freely without a level of assertiveness.”

Contemplating a valid argument, I stroked my chin. “Alexa, for you I’d do just about anything.”

Her shoulders set back. “But?”

“But innate inclination tells me that your request is for Jace,” I stated honestly, and those hazel-coloured eyes deceived her masked aloofness, validating confined reservations. “Don’t look at me like that.”

Hopeless, she sat taller, fingers combing through her untamed hair. “Your uncompromising tendencies irk me, Liam.” She blew out a tired sigh, and I studied every detail of her breath-stealing beauty, from the faded scar below her eye and kissable lips that weaken me at the knees. “There must be a compromise.” Unconscious to my unexpressed venerating and inexorable enamourment, she toyed with the military tags draped from her neck, thumb polishing the rare red diamond. “Come on, Liam. Let’s do things differently. We’re supposed to be on the same side.”

“What do you want from me?” I deliberate, pulling my lower lip between gritted teeth. “As aforementioned, I am who I am, Alexa. Not once, since involving myself with you, have I solicited a personality transplant. I love all that you are, every perfect imperfection, yet you wish to amend, reshape and reconstruct me. Some might call your haughty terms-and-conditions selfish.”

Genuine regret marred her sombre face. “Quite frankly, you did change me, Liam. You demanded a stronger woman, someone powerful and worthy of standing beside you. And for you, I bent over backwards to eradicate and expunge the demons from inside my head.”

Fucking hell. “Alexa, I challenged the strength and fierceness you were hellbent on keeping locked away for your benefit, not mine,” I argued, hearing our room door knock. “Fine.” Walking to the door, I swung it open, snatched the bottles, without regarding the waiter, and slammed it right back in his face. Unscrewing the Macallan cap, I put the glass rim to my lips and downed enough alcohol to burn my throat and chest.

Marking my procrastination, Alexa rose to her feet and dallied beside me. Shoulder-to-shoulder, she brushed her fingernails down my arm, rooting goosebumps to my flesh. She curled a hand around the vodkas bottleneck and set her back to the wall, declining onto her backside. You’d never think a double-bed and furniture occupied the room. With a subtle eye drop, she silently directed me to hunker beside her.

Licking harsh alcohol from my lips, I landed on my ass and stretched out my legs.

Satisfied by my obsequiousness, she uncapped her vodka and drank thirstily. “When becoming a member of the syndicate, every man has one lifeline when it comes to outsiders,” she hints, and I inwardly profaned, knowing where this tacit conversation was heading. “As long as their friend, family member or significant other doesn’t denounce the organisation, your men can vouch for immunity. May I be shown the same courtesy?”

“You want to waste that power card on Him?” I muttered an incredulous sneer. “Tell me how you landed in his possession and I might consider your ridiculous proposal.”

Alexa screwed the lid back onto the bottle. “Jace pretended to be my friend and betrayed my trust. On your thirtieth birthday, he faked intoxication and teamed-up with Flamur and the Albanians, clothed my mouth with chloroform, tossed me inside the boot of an unlicensed car, drove my unconscious body onto a ferry and collected pre-booked tickets for his trip. I cannot tell you how long we journeyed or how he unnoticeably conveyed me from the vehicle to the holiday home he’d rented, but I do recall rousing in an unfamiliar place, terrified and alone…”

Her words started to drift. Benumbed, I sat on the floor, the Macallan bottle slowly slipping through my fingers.

“…I mean, we must consider his mental state, Liam. The Albanians kidnapped his daughter. No father—no parent—deserves to undergo such heinousness…”

“You never mentioned his involvement with your abduction, Alexa. In actual fact, you led me to believe your disappearance was all Bajramovic’s doing.” My body stiffened, and a grievous clamp crushed my thunderous heart. “I am going to fucking kill him.”

“What?” Her head whooshed in my direction, manifested dread in her owlish blinking eyes. “No, Liam. This is why I didn’t want to tell you! You haven’t even let me finish!”

Lunging the Macallan across the room, shattering the glass into thousands of shards, I jumped to my feet, snatched the keys off the bed and beelined the door.

Jace Williams is a dead man walking.

“Liam!” Securing the back of my T-shirt, she used all her might, striving to stop me from absconding. “If you hurt him, I will never, ever, forgive you—Liam!”

“Do not make a mockery out of me!” I roared, slapping her hands off my body. “Do not,” I warned in a deadly voice, towering above her, “insult the man that I am, Alexa—I will not yield.” Every muscle beneath my overheated skin corded, twisting and binding as I mentally endeavoured to grasp my bearings. “I didn’t get this far in life by being weak,” I spat, and she blundered, crashing the backs of her knees against the bed frame. “How can you vouch for him after everything he did to you?”

“Liam,” she hiccups a cry, shaking her head vigorously. “You’re not considering this from his perspective. I was just a faceless nobody—a ticket to Summer’s freedom. I’ve explained this before. It wasn’t personal. He just wanted to get his daughter back.”

Snarling, I pushed her shoulder, and she dropped onto the bed. “Not my fucking problem.”

Anger replaced devastation. “Where is your compassion?” she screamed, picking up the first item she finds, a pillow, and hurling it at my head. “You heartless asshole! She was a child, Liam! An innocent little girl who fell into the arms of a monster—because of me,” she retorted, hitting two palms on my chest. “Their suffering was because of me. It’s my fault that she died—my fault that he buried his baby girl, so fuck you and your pertinacious, single-minded, uncooperative bullshit.” Chest heaving, she blew dark tendrils from off her face. “You harm one hair on his head and I’ll bastard kill you myself.”

Her iron-willed promise hit me hard in the chest. “Again, the woman I foolishly fell in love with, chooses another man,” I said more for my function than hers. “When did I become so clueless, huh?”

A single tear rolled down her cheek. “Me protecting him has nothing to do with my love for you. I adore you,” she whispers, gingerly coming forward to cup my cheeks. “Liam, touch me.” Gripping my hand, she laid it over her chest for me to feel her irregular heartbeat. “Only you have the power to make me experience a turbulent of mixed emotions.” Her nervous laughter blew against my chin. “You are the centre of my life.”

Touching her forehead with mine, I closed my eyes. “Why didn’t you come to me, Alexa? I could have helped. It didn’t need to be this way.”

“I know you,” she breathed, not looking up at me. “The second I trusted you with what happened, I knew you and the Suits would hunt Jace down and kill him for taking me. I guess I wanted to prevent the inevitable, so promised to help him. Yes, he mismanaged his daughter’s abduction, but he was devastated, broken, desperate to bring her back to safety.” She peered up at me from beneath her wet eyelashes, searching for an ounce of understanding. “I wish my father had his resilience, Liam.” She was tugging on my heartstrings, and it was working. “You’re letting my one-night with Jace cloud your judgment. If I never…” Fucked him, I thought, grinding down on my teeth. “Please, for me, let this go. He has to live every single day without his baby in hand. What’s more punishing than a lifetime of grief and suffering?”

Respiring a shuddered breath, I rubbed her back. “He gets one chance,” I resigned, and a relieved whimper vibrated at the back of her throat. “If he oversteps, Alexa, I will not be forgiving. Know that I do this for you.” I sidestepped her, pondering a shot of vodka. “What transpired with Jace stays between us—it ends now.”

Wiping tears from her cheeks, she sniffled. “Of course.”

“No more sharing his bed,” I continued, and she wordlessly agreed. “From this moment forward, you do not challenge my decisions, especially concerning other men. Have I made myself abundantly fucking clear?”

Red-cheeked and knocked for six, Alexa inhaled a lungful of air. “Yes.”

I didn’t like it, not one bit, but I acquiesced—for now.

“What was your relationship with Kellie?” she asked, and truthfully, I forgot about her. “You impregnated her.”

“That child wasn’t mine.” How many times do I need to say it? “I already told you that Kellie lied.” When her sadness held, I buckled. “Alexa, she meant nothing to me.”

My words shouldn’t appease Alexa, but there’s no disputing that my unsympathetic attitude concerning Kellie inspired her smile. “You never have sex with me without protection.”

“I was in a bad place, baby,” I admitted, holding her hand and interlacing our fingers. “You have no idea how much your death broke me. There were times I woke up, a nameless woman asleep on my arm, not remembering anything from the night before. Alcohol, drugs and sex became a coping mechanism.” Not that either vice truly worked. I saddled myself with guilt instead. “Okay, let’s get straight to the point. You hate and resent the fact I slept with other women. I said it before, and I’ll say it again: they meant nothing to me. For us to move on? You must forgive and forget my past mistakes and give me a chance to prove myself to you.”

She swept her thumb over my knuckles. “I know.”

“I promise,” I said huskily, palming her face, wanting her to meet my gaze, “never to invite another woman into my bed. Alexa, don’t you see it? You’re my lifeline.”

Her eyes toured my face. “Liam Warren doesn’t make promises,” she half-joked, adding light humour to our serious discussion. “Just us?”

“Just us,” I murmured, kissing the curve of her delectable mouth. “Always.”

“How do we move forward?”

I hadn’t prepared for that question.

Alexa lives at a guesthouse; I practically live at the office. It’s been a rocky road, but surely, to solidify our relationship, moving in together is the next step? Then, why does the idea bother me? Rushing, I thought, cradling her in my arms, inhaling the rose-scented shampoo from her hair. “I want to live with you, but I fear it’s not the right time. Pushing you away isn’t an option, Alexa. I am good at many things. A perfected partner isn’t one of them, so contribute. Tell me what you want.”

Unravelling herself from my hold, she curled hair behind her ears, toeing the carpet. “I mean,” she ebbed, and my eyebrows furrowed into a dark scowl. “I think, like, maybe, I’d like to go back to Newquay…”

Newquay, I wondered pensively. “You wish to leave London?”

“Not permanently,” she stuttered, hastily reassuring me. “A short holiday—a few months…”

“A few months,” I punctuated each syllable, disappointment hefting on my shoulders. “Alexa, you do understand that I can’t leave, right?” When she didn’t flinch or appear taken aback, I narrowed my eyes. “I wasn’t part of your plans.”

Unearthing courage, she locked eyes with me. “I’m not stupid, Liam. I know that you can’t leave the syndicate, not for too long, anyway.” Wrangling her fingers, she cleared her dry throat. “I mean, I’d love if you came home with me—”

“Home?” I barked out, my heart pounding. “Hang on, Alexa. Is this a holiday or a possible relocation?”

“No, Liam. I don’t know,” she prattled, scratching her flushing chest. “I used to live there, and after everything that happened to Kathy and my dad—Paddy, rather—I feel like it might be time to replace distressing memories with positive ones. When I consider my childhood, It’s filled with Him and my mother’s misery.” She licked her lips. “I have so many questions. Where did my mother live? Did she work? Did she have friends, or are there possible family members?”

I was completely numb. “Okay, then go for a week or two and come back,” I suggested stoically, and she made a face. “What?”

“Nothing,” she lied with an ingenuous smile. “Two weeks should be enough.”

Selfishly, I gave her a curt nod, refusing to let go of the only woman who claimed my heart. “I can arrange for one of my men to escort you.”

Gaping at me, Alexa reclaimed the vodka bottle and downed enough liquid to make her eyes water. “Liam, I am not exploring my old hometown with officious Suits in tow. Please, I just want to be a normal tourist, admiring the coastal views and drinking cheap ales besides a campfire, or stuffing my face with marshmallows.”

I perked a brow. “Marshmallows?”

“Can we not make fun of me?” Sitting cross-legged on the bed, she invited me over with alluring eyes, and like the pussy-whipped man that I am, I sank one knee onto the mattress and crawled towards her. “I will call, text and even facetime you. How does that sound?”

Growling, I snatched her earlobe with my teeth. “I am not leaving you unguarded or vulnerable to outsiders. My woman has twenty-four-seven security. And Alexa, safety measures are non-negotiable, so withdraw your hand from my crotch, and quit trying to use sex to manipulate me.”

Laughing loudly, she threw her head back, inviting me to kiss the column of her neck. “Liam, you wouldn’t deny me a good fucking, right?”

She has me by the balls, and she knows it. “Yes.” Holding her wrist, I lift her hand to my mouth, sucking spilt vodka from her pointer finger.

Her dilated eyes fixated on the movement. “Could I change your mind?”

“About?” I husked, grazing her jawline with my teeth.

“Come with me,” she said softly, readjusting the chain around my neck. “Surely even you merit a break from time to time.”

I rasped a weary exhale.

Before Larry Fagan’s demise, I survived an attack while enjoying wine at an Italian restaurant. When conversing with my men, masked shooters targeted my back and bombarded the owner, Mario, and his fine service, resulting in a fatal drive-by and leaving many victims for dead. Fortunately, both the men and I survived and exited the building unscathed and, although there’s a small possibility the hit wasn’t aimed at me, I mustn’t treat the matter flippantly.

Alexa’s back in my life, safe and as beautiful as ever, but it’s time to get down to business. She’s going back to Newquay, Cornwall, to trek down memory lane and relive her past, but I got people to visit, feathers to ruffle and an underworld to orchestrate.

Furthermore, Vincent, my suspected brother, is a problematic encumbrance that needs addressing. I cannot ignore his disembodied footsteps forever.

Stalling, I watched Alexa indiscernibly, thoroughly besotted. “No.” Her hopeful smile faded. She handed me the vodka bottle, and I compelled myself to appreciate the sharp-tasting substance. “Go back. Find yourself and come home.” Come home to me, I thought, paving my thumb over her lips. “Two weeks, Alexa.”

Kicking off her socks, she dipped her bare feet under the waistband of my jogging bottoms, resting them aback my thighs.

Knowing what she wants—what she craves—I slanted my mouth over hers, hearing the vodka bottle roll off the bed and tumble across the floor. Breaking our kiss for a nanosecond, I tore the T-shirt from her body, but never once veered my eyes. My gaze settled on her face, memorising her beauty for one final time until she’s back in my bed.

Her black leggings shortly followed.

We ravished and worshipped each other’s bodies, gradually, with no clothes between us. I gathered her into my arms, and she hugged me back, hands secured to my neck.

Walking us into the bathroom, Kicking the door behind us, I aimlessly slapped my palm across the marble tiles, to locate the light switch. Illuminated underneath warm brightness, I entered the glass cubicle, turned on the shower and hissed, the cold water like shards of glass to my heated skin. “I want you bare,” I grated, bracing my hands to the wall, her adhering to me. “Baby?” Kissing her water-dewed shoulder, I deliberately pressed my hard, aching cock to her warm cunt.

“I’ll go to the pharmacy tomorrow,” she assures, fingernails digging into my neck. “Liam?”

Gripping the base of my shaft, I tugged an upstroke, lining myself up at her entrance. “Yes, baby?”

“Do you want children?”

I froze.

My heart plunged to the hollowness of my stomach.

“Not now,” she said, unnerved by my sudden detachment. “Maybe someday?”

Releasing the vice-like grip to my cock, I set her feet to the ground and swiped a palm down my face. “No.”

Chewing her bottom lip, she cast her gaze heavenward, arms swaddling atop her breasts. “Never?”

“Never,” I said affirmatively, not bending my decision. “I suppose you do.”

Alexa’s neither upset nor relieved. No, she’s contemplative, speculating future probabilities, or, in my case, improbabilities.

“I don’t know,” she eventually replied, emptying shower gel onto a white loofah. “I hadn’t really thought about it.”

“Until now?” I queried, and she pouted. “What?”

“What, like, never-never?” she asked once more, frowning up at me. “You might change your mind in ten or fifteen years.”

“Alexa, I don’t speak with non-literal authority. When I make a decision? It’s final. I don’t want children or their entailed responsibilities. My life’s great, so why complicate it with needles offspring?” She scrubbed my chest, frustratingly rough, too. “Are we arguing again?”

“I haven’t decided yet,” she said snappishly, slinging the loofah over my shoulder.

“For fuck’s sake.” Shaking my head, I poured shampoo onto my palm and lathered and washed out my hair. “We can’t go five minutes without bickering.”

Scoffing a snort, she calculatingly flung her wet hair, the ends slapping me in the ridge of my eye, and storms out of the cubicle.

“Yeah, that’s right,” I said belligerently. “Give me your back again. Nothing fucking new there, huh?”

“Screw you, asshole,” she muttered under her breath, stealing the only towel from the heated radiator. “Pretty sure I’ve seen nothing but your back since you stalked me.”

“Stalked you?” Killing the water, I chased behind her, feet slapping along the floor. “You hounded my ass for months.”

“I know.” Lifting a cold shoulder, she towel-dried, not looking at me.

“Are you listening to the words coming out of your mouth?” She’s fucking unhinged. “At this point, I don’t even know why the fuck we’re arguing.”

Blowing out her cheeks, she let the towel fall and my eyes automatically wavered on her chest. “Liam, I might want babies one day,” she said so quietly, I almost missed it. “But if you don’t, where does that leave us?” Raking a hand through her hair, she side-eyed me. “What’s the point in us pursuing a relationship if we want different things?”

Did I honestly believe she’d never want children?

“Alexa I am one of London’s most notorious criminals.” It’s not an egotistical assertion; it’s a fact. “You,” I said, pointing at her, “being on my arm is dangerous enough. You know it; I know it. If Liam Warren had children?” I stressed, enunciating the frightening picture. “We’d be lucky if they outlived childhood.”

At my callousness, Alexa sucked in a sharp inhale. “Why would anyone target an innocent kid?”

“I don’t know, baby. Why did a monster snatch you?” I hadn’t wanted to be cruel, but she had to digest the severity of what she’s asking of me. “Protecting myself and The Brotherhood outweighed everything until you came along. Now, you’re my utmost priority. Do not ask this of me, Alexa. You’ll be sorely disappointed.”

She sank her pallid cheeks. “Okay.”

“Okay?” I asked, dubious. “Are you simply agreeing only to disagree in the future?”

Doing the sign of the cross over her heart, she smiled sadly at me. “I promise.”

I uncaged the breath I was holding. “Good.”

“Good,” she repeated, a touch sarcastic. Finding her discarded clothes, getting dressed, she kicked the towel over, and I half-heartedly patted my chest to dry. “I should go.”

“What?” I knew her submissiveness was a scheming, dishonest act. “Go where? Where the fuck are you going?”

“To pack,” she said as if it were obvious. “I’m getting up early, Liam. I want to be on the first available coach.”

“No, I said, one of my men will escort you. Spend the night with me, and we’ll prepare arrangements tomorrow.”

“I am not,” she sliced through my command, sharpening her jaw, “going home with the Suits. Like it or lump it, Liam. I am a grown-ass woman who’s capable of making decisions.”

“Fine,” I quipped, furiously casting the towel onto the bed. “Go away by yourself, unprotected and defenceless. If someone targets you in my absence, what do I care, huh? My ‘grown-ass’ woman got it all figured out.” Her silence peeved me. “Alexa!”

“What?” Tears sprang to her eyes. “What, Liam?”

Her pain was my pain. “I don’t want anything bad to happen to you.”

“Well, let me ask Jace,” she uttered the unthinkable, and I envisioned ripping out his black heart. “He’s my friend, Liam. I’d feel more comfortable with him.”

“Categorically fucking not,” I retort, and she rolled her eyes. “Don’t roll your fucking eyes at me. Your involvement with Jace? It ends now.”

She growled exasperatedly. “Liam, I am not unfriending him because you demand it.”

“How would you feel if I kept an ex-fuck around and rubbed her in your goddamn face?” The door banged, and uncontrollable rage emitted off me. I gaited and opened the handle, putting myself face-to-face with the hotel manager. “What?” I raged, the vein in my neck pulsing.

Not once did he confront the swinging cock between my legs. “Sir, we have received ample complaints from other guests. If you don’t keep the noise down, I’ll have no choice but to ask you to leave—”

“Get the fuck out of here.” Hurling the door in his face, I continued my debate with the infuriating woman glaring at me from across the room. “You will ditch Jace. End of.”

“You hypocritical asshole!” Snatching my trainer off the floor, she lobbed it, and I ducked in time for it to hit the wall. “How dare you ask this of me, when toffee-nosed Hellen hangs around with her meddlesome fuckery!”

“You want me to risk exposure by impulsively putting a bullet between her eyes? No problem, Alexa.” I tear on jogging bottoms, tying the drawstrings at my waist. “I’ll end that bitch—keep you sweet.”

“It changes nothing,” she said, her voice strained. “Do not make me choose, Liam.”

My cold stare flickered up. “There shouldn’t be a choice.”

She flung her hands in the air. “It’s not a pissing contest, Liam.”

“Then why are you fucking making it one!” I yelled, pushing a hand through my hair before impulsively landing a fist the wall. Knuckles cracking open on collision, I snatched my keys, phone, hoodie and trainers, resolute on leaving, and robed with urgency. “You really are a juvenile bitch.”

“Yeah, well, I’d rather be a juvenile bitch, than some stuck-up, pompous prick like you.” Trousers on yet inside out, she paced ahead, just as eager to get away from the room.

Before I could grip the handle, she shut the door in my face. Temporarily squinting my eyes closed, I drag in a composing breath, crash open the door and power down the grandiose hallway, patting myself down for the cigarettes. Fishing the packet out of my pocket, I balanced one on the edge of my lips and lit the end while simultaneously going through the rotational glass doors at the hotel entrance, exiting onto the street.

Alexa, disarray and crazily becoming, snapped a bobble around her troublesome curls, eyes bouncing from side-to-side to flag down a taxi.

Tilting my head back, I blow a ribbon of smoke to the starless sky. “Are you going to leave without saying goodbye?”

Patting her red nose with the heel of her hand, she shot me a venomous glare. “You warrant nothing from me.” A black cab drove past, and she shot up a hand.

Preventing her from leaving under a dark cloud, I stole her wrist, expecting a knee to the balls.

Alternatively, she sucked her upper teeth, glowering at the moon as though its full, illuming presence affronted her. “Release me at once.”

Thumb hard-pressed to her pulse, I discarded the cigarette, drew her in and whispered an affectionate kiss to her temple. “I am angry with you.”

“The feeling is very mutual, Liam,” she whimpered, covering her mouth with her opposite hand. “Why, if we love each other so much, do we behave like this?”

Across the road, Josh, suited in an exquisite navy-coloured three-piece, rose from a parked Bentley. Closing the car door, he rested his back to the window, hands tucked inside his trouser pockets, feet crossed at the ankles.

Why is he here?

I twisted my head to the side, clicking my neck. “It’s not our time.”

Her round eyes sought mine, brimmed red and glassy. “Are you breaking up with me?”

“No, I’m letting you spread those wings,” I strained out, swallowing the agonising lump in my throat. “Go to Newquay. Stay. Come back—or don’t,” I begrudgingly added, and her lips parted. “When you’re ready to commit to me, the syndicate and The Brotherhood… I’ll wait for you.” With my eyes, I ordered Josh to come over. “Josh can drive you to Heather’s place.”

“Liam…” Her words drifted. “Will there be others if we separate?”

I hold up my hands, jokingly surrendering. “As I said, I’ll wait for you—” Her chest crashed into mine, arms snaking around my neck, lips welded to my mouth. Holding her head in my head, I kissed her breathless. Endless requests fell heavy on my heart. For once, I stopped myself from demanding more. “I’m in love with you.”

Putting her forehead to mine, she flattened her lips, nodding her agreement.

I handed her over to one of my most trusted men. “Josh, drive Alexa home.”

“Sir.” Taking Alexa by the elbow, he accompanied her to the car, the whole time, her eyes never leaving me.

Sliding onto the passenger seat, she shut the door, waiting for Josh to collapse behind the steering wheel before buckling up.

“How’s it going, Bossman?” Brad, like an apparition, draped an arm over my shoulders. “You look disgustingly in love—”

“Get off me.” Jerking my arm, I spurned his gesture, facing him as Josh sped down the road like a bat out of hell; I’ll bastard kill him if anything happens to her. “Why are you here?” It’s my night off. I told Nate to leave anything business-related until I called him. “Who died?”

Chewing the end of a toothpick, he openly ogled two females. Hips swaying, skirts barely covering their arses, they lingered by the hotel entrance, marvelling at us with approving fuck-me eyes. “Fucking Christ. My cock needs some of that.”

I cracked a low smirk. “Nothing new there then.”

“Ladies,” he teased with a naughty wink. “You look good enough to eat.”

The blonde giggled, tugging her friend’s hand, imploring her to stay.

“There’s a suite upstairs with my name on it,” he taunts, and I fought against lambasting him. “You’re welcome to join me—or us,” he tossed a thumb in my direction, “If the Boss’ game.”

“Brad,” I scolded, and he grinned mischievously. “Have a fucking day off.” I steered my attention to the broads. “You can piss off now.”

“Wanker,” the raven-haired girl spits, nose scrunching up in disgust. “No need to be so rude.”

“Don’t,” her friend sibilated, amending her rising dress. “That’s Liam Warren.”

“Oh, ignore the big bad wolf.” Brad waved a facetious hand in my face. “He’s all bark. I, however, bite.” Suddenly bored with their kittenish purrs, he gives them his back, licking the toothpick to the corner of his mouth. “We encountered a problem.”

Of course, they did. Life would be boring without dilemmas. “What do you have for me?”

Brad’s playfulness lessened. His hard-faced expression exemplified how tonight will end. “Vincent.”

I don’t quite know how I feel about that. “Where is he?”

Gesturing for me to follow, he leads me down the street and turns the corner, whistling a chilling melody as we venture down the all-bricked, sewage smelling alleyway.

Parked on the curbside, beneath a lamppost, Nate rises from a Bentley, togged-up in a black suit and beanie hat.

I stretched my fingers into Bill’s leather gloves, glanced around to ensure seclusion, and stopped at the trunk. “Open.”

Unlocking the boot, Nate cracked the door and pointed to the man himself, curled into a fetal position, cable ties around his wrists and ankles. “Found him sniffing inside your office,” Nate said, reaching inside and ripping duct tape from his lips. “We don’t know how he slipped security yet.”

Vincent hadn’t screamed when Nate alleviated the restraint from his mouth. In fact, the son of a bitch had the gall to smirk at me.

“Vincent,” I quipped, flipping open a sharp switchblade. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

His piercing blue eyes cut into me. “Yes.”

Chapter 5

Alexa

For an early trip, I woke up at the crack of dawn and finished packing a half-filled suitcase from the night before. With a soft glow from the lamp, I managed to prepare for Cornwall, calmly and silently, without disturbing Jace, who slept like a naked starfish on the double-bed, the chaotic blanket, tangled around his legs.

After my spontaneously unscheduled time with Liam, I returned to Heather’s bed-and-breakfast, unsurprised to see an anxious Jace pacing the kitchen, a bottle of empty vodka in hand—the drunk sod.

When our eyes collided, he had chastised me for being thoughtless. Whilst I spent the day with Liam, drinking and making love in a five-star hotel, Jace worried himself sick over me. Not one member of the syndicate abated my friend or delivered updates, so he believed, I squandered in a cell, fearing for freedom.

I guess I was a lousy friend after all. Not once, when safe in Liam’s arms, did I consider Jace or Heather. Worrying themselves to death and ingesting the acidity of alcohol despoliation to numb tormenting emotions, they convinced each other of my prospective prison sentence. Yet, my inconsiderate self hadn’t bothered to inspirit or console them in their hour of worry.

Maybe it was time to look in the mirror, to re-evaluate my recent behaviour.

“Selfish,” Jace had called me.

Selfish, destructive, manipulative, uncaring, narcissistic and wrapped up in herself, Alexa doesn’t accept constructive criticism. No, she’s characterised by self-centeredness and an untruthful sense of fucking entitlement!

Okay, so that final rant left me open-mouthed and gobsmacked. I mean, I appreciated his frustration and impatience, but a narcissist? Me? Am I self-absorbed? Do I manipulate people? Am I seriously that detrimental to others?

Jace purposefully slammed the kitchen door behind him, rattling the wall-shelved fine china and spice jars.

Cowardly, I stayed by the window, listening to the thunderous downpour, crashing against Heather’s rattan furniture. Three cups of coffee later, and I fostered the mental strength to confront the other alpha in my life. Only, when stumbling into the room, prepared for a boxing match, I found Jace asleep, the right side of the bed—my side of the bed—empty, spacious for me to join him.

I made a promise to Liam.

I created a makeshift bed on the sofa. It was uncomfortable, and my legs hung over the armrest. However, I will not disrespect Liam further. It’s a big ask, but someday, I want Liam to accept Jace, tolerate him, even. In order to achieve a strained, possibly fake friendship between those men, I had to respect Liam’s apprehensions. So, no more cuddling with my friend. We can continue our relationship, forgoing the atypical yet acquainted routine we once appreciated.

Currently, I am cleaning our bedroom, ready for Heather to come in and work her sprucing magic. Exhaling a tired sigh, I stuffed the folded linen inside the cupboard and tossed the remainder of my belongings into a suitcase.

“Okay.” Brushing my hair into a tight ponytail, I sit on the foot of the bed and sheath my legs with black suede knee-high boots.

Glimpsing over one shoulder, I gingerly place a hand on Jace’s inked back, praying he doesn’t wake up with a start and continue his grilling from last night. “Jace,” I said softly, poking his spine. “Can we talk?”

Groaning throatily, he cracked one eye open and scowled. “Alexa?” Licking his dry lips, wiping the sleep from his eyes, he rolled over, onto his back, and ran a hand through his brown, untidy hair. “What time is it?” He stares at the window, where the sun’s beginning to rise on our horizon. “Shit. Why are you up so early?” Curiousness piquing, he took in my appearance, smartly dressed, a face-full of makeup and fashion jewellery. “What’s going on?”

“I am going on a trip,” I said what I wanted to say yesterday. “Newquay, Cornwall, it’s my birthplace…Do you want to come with me?”

Jace propped up onto his elbows, the comforter falling to his waistline. He scratched his bare chest, noticing my zipped suitcase on the chair. “For real?”

I nodded.

Making a noncommittal noise, he swept the blanket aside and soared from the bed, offering grandstand seats to his tattooed backside. “I didn’t think you’d hang around after last night.”

Let’s just say that I did some soul-searching this morning. “You’re my best friend,” I whispered vulnerably, blinking undesired tears from my eyes. “Why would I leave you?”

“Warren?” he mused, knotting a towel around his waist.

“Liam’s displeased by the idea of it being you accompanying me, but he’s aware and even wished me a safe journey.” That’s not entirely true. I omitted the argument, and the “kill Jace” threats and temporary separation whilst I “spread my wings.”

Perching a seat onto the sideboard, Jace threaded his fingers together, eyeing me, a suspicious sneer in his forest-green eyes. “Warren’s cool with me holidaying with you?” he asked, needing reassurance. “I find that hard to believe, Alexa.”

“Believe what you want, Jace.” Standing, I adjusted the button to my blue jeans. “Listen, I don’t want to waste time debating or deliberating. Heather’s downstairs and I want to say goodbye before the taxi arrives.”

He glimpsed at his wristwatch. “What time do you plan to leave?”

“Thirty minutes,” I said, and his eyes protruded. “Don’t worry. I packed your holdall, just in case. All you have to do is take a shower and get dressed.”

I unlocked the bedroom door, closed it quietly behind me and ventured downstairs. Passing the main function room, I faltered my steps, slowly craned my head back and gawked. With garden views, a young couple enjoys breakfast near the window, laughing over a jug of orange juice.

What in the world?

Relaxing my momentary eyebrow lift, I proceeded ahead, in search of our beautiful innkeeper. Freshly baked bread and the sizzling scent of bacon permeates the kitchen as I enter, the chef/gardener/decorator/businesswoman—hell, she’s an accumulation of female empowerment, adorned in floral attire and lavender scented perfume. Heather, buttering bread, apron fastening to her body, hums tunes to the radio. “Good morning, Alexa,” she chimes, dusting off her hands. “I assume…” Her eyes lift, and when she, too, discerns my appearance, worry lines shape between her rigid brows. “You look ravishing, dear. Going somewhere?”

Inflating my chest, I open the fridge freezer, take out a carton of apple juice and pour myself a glass. “You have customers.”

“Yes,” she said, albeit cagey. “I decided it was time to reopen for business, remember?”

“That’s wonderful, Heather.” Sipping my drink, relishing the sweet, flavoursome apples on my tongue, I settled on a stool. “I love the dress, by the way.” She’s wearing a blue chiffon summer dress, floor-length with spaghetti straps. “Is a date with Ivor on the table?” I teased, tearing through a slice of buttered toast she set on the granite island for me.

“Only morning coffee,” she said as if it weren’t a big deal. “Perhaps a stroll in the park.” Cheeks sprinkled pink, she finales two-plated cooked breakfasts onto a tray. “One moment, dear.”

Using her back, she opens the door and leaves the kitchen, conveying the customers full-English.

I scarfed down two mouthfuls of toast before setting the dismantled leftovers aside.

Heather popped back and turned off the stove. “You are leaving.”

God, she’s insightful. “I think we both know that I outstayed my welcome, Heather.”

“And Nath—Jace,” she stuttered, sitting opposite me. “Will he leave, too?”

Even if Jace doesn’t join me in Cornwall, I don’t believe he’ll stay here without me. “Yes.”

“Oh,” she said almost inaudibly, the soft, translucent skin around her eyes creasing. “Where will you go?”

“Reminiscing.” Came Jace’s smooth voice.

Jumping out of my skin, I turned at the waist and smiled broadly. “You look edible,” I joked, overwhelmed yet exhilarated by his decision to come with me.

Jace pushes himself away from the doorjamb, setting our cases on the floor. “Is there any coffee going?”

“Of course, my darling.” Heather, quick to accommodate, rushes to the kettle to prepare him a cuppa. “Anything for my favourite boy.”

“Boy?” Jace mouthed to me, and I simply shrugged. “Nice one, Heather.” Modelling jeans, heavy-duty boots, a fitted black T-shirt and his quotidian leather jacket, he grabs the mug from Heather, dropping a fond kiss to her cheek. “You are a doll.”

Eyes rolling heavenward, she dismissed him with a lazy hand flick. “I bet you say that to all the ladies.”

Adopting light-heartedness soon became tedious for Heather. Her lips trembled, and those sad eyes pooled with tears.

“Heather?” Rising to my feet, I moved around the counter. “What’s wrong?”

“Are you okay?” Jace’s uneasiness synchronised mine. Casting off the mug, he wiped his hands on his jeans and delved into intervening. “Heath?”

“It’s silly,” she cried, lifting her gold-framed glasses to dry tears from her eyes. “Ignore this crazy old mare.”

“Hey,” I lightly scold, wrapping an arm around her waist. “If you’re crazy? Then I’m certifiable.”

“Yeah,” agreed Jace, bending his arm above mine. “And if Alexa’s certifiable, well, then, I’m crackbrained.”

I flung him a “what the fuck?” look. “Crackbrained?”

He pulled a face.

“You two,” Heather wept, glancing lovingly between us. “Oh, I’m going to miss you so much.”

Tears crowded my eyes.

“It’s not a goodbye, Heath,” Jace failed to assure, squeezing her shoulder. “You ain’t getting rid of us that easy.”

Huffing out a devastating breath, she caged our hands, clinging on for a final embrace. “Thank you.”

Frowning in puzzlement, I asked, “For what?”

Misty-eyed and sorrowful, Heather unravelled herself and stood before us, mentally unwinding. “By forcing me to step out of the darkness.”

Tongue-tied, I studied her, unsure of this gratitude she bestows.

Jace, much like myself, scratched his elevated brow.

“Before you two came along, I was merely a walking zombie who struggled to get out of bed in the morning. I guess what I am trying to say is you gave me a reason to wake up, to get dressed, to feign happiness until contentment was second-nature and gardening was no longer a chore.”

I dislodged the lump in my throat.

“I somewhat enjoyed mothering my new guests,” she continued, stealing Jace’s coffee and swigging. “Although I must confess. I always knew you weren’t brother and sister. And I most certainly didn’t believe those phoney names, either.”

Cracking a laugh, I secretly knuckled a tear from my cheek.

“I love the bones of you,” she said, and an unfamiliar emotion waved through me. “Now, I have customers to feed, so see yourselves out.”

For Heather, watching us leave was an unbearably painful task. Instead, she dawdled inside the function room and pretended to read a book, not gracing us with a glance as we said our farewells to the guest house. However, when packing the taxi’s boot, I felt eyes on us.

Heather watched us leave from behind the curtain.

***

According to brochures, Newquay, a town on the north coast of Cornwall, is renowned for its sandy Fistral and Watergate Bay beaches. Humming to myself, I stuffed the pamphlet in my bag, slid sunglasses over my eyes and shadowed Jace, who carries our cases from the coach, out of the station.

An impromptu trip to Newquay equals a directionless duo.

Jace, sporting aviators and ball cap, sipped coffee. “Now what?”

I had no response.

“Did you book a hotel before we left?”

I shook my head.

“What about a car?”

My nose wrinkled. “I don’t know how to drive.”

He huffed. “Please, tell me, you at least remembered to bring the money?”

Oh, I overturned every nook, cranny and alcove at Heather’s, gathering hidden cash for our adventure. “Of course, I remembered the money. I am not completely irresponsible, Jace.”

Impolitely disagreeing, he snorted, hurling his empty coffee cup in a trash bin. “So, what’s the plan?” There was a pregnant pause. “Alexa!”

“I don’t know,” I argued, regaining my bag and dragging it across the road. “I hadn’t thought thus far ahead.”

“I don’t think you thought at all,” he barks, dodging a passing vehicle, re-joining me on the pavement. “Let’s find a hostel or something.”

“A hostel?” I shrieked, insidious horror movies flashing inside my head. “No, hostels, Jace.”

Irked by my petulance, Jace fastened the holdall strap over his chest, snatched the case from my hands and powered forward.

I stared at him in wonder. “Where are you going?”

“To find a damn room,” he bellowed, drawing the attention of tourists, commuters and shoppers. “Move your fat ass, Alexa.”

“I wish I had a fat ass,” I muttered, smiling meekly to the seatmate epicures, taking pleasure in an afternoon of chilled beers and light-lunches.

My heels alternatively clicked along the pavement as I kept a guarded distance behind a riled-up Jace. He hesitated near a shop window. Without conversing with me, he opened the door and went inside, leaving my lonesome-self outside a plush boutique.

Hands to my hips, I rocked back on the heels of my boots, admiring the sun-faded buntings, snaking between small business buildings, lively bars and restaurants, vivacious villagers and pleasant smelling sea air.

The shop door opened. Jace barrelled out, brandishing an envelope. “I found us somewhere to sleep. The travel agent said it’s about a twenty-minute walk…” His judgmental eyes paid emphasis on my boots. “Do we need a tram ride?”

“No.” Ever since Victoria, waltzing about in six-inch heels aided elegance and posture, so I seldom feel the floor underneath my meandering legs. “Fancy a pretzel?”

“Fuck, yes.”

I bought a bag of soft pretzels from the bakery and walked with Jace to our holiday home. Polarising and cataloguing the sceneries, I filled the void in my stomach, complained twice—blame thirst—and eventually located the cliffside beach house with coastal views. Call me biased. I had the world’s most awesome best friend. He’d been angry with me; nevertheless, the lovable rogue ensured the time spent in Newquay was to be memorable. We passed B&Bs, hotels, hostels and even a caravan site. The log cabin, though, was a special touch. “I love it.”

Jace ascended the steps to the wooden veranda. “You haven’t even seen it yet.”

I didn’t need to. “It’s perfect, Jace.”

Fumbling with the keys, he unlocked the front door and gestured for me to enter first.

Not quite withholding my excitement, I dashed indoors. Commodious yet cosily personal, the cabin compromises a snug ambience with an interceding kitchen and living area, well-lighted and airy, rustic furnishings and a beckoning wrap around porch for those late-night vodka sessions with Jace.

I left Jace to find a bedroom. Jutting a creaking door, I stepped into the box room, the hardwood floorboards groaning with each step.

Shirking out of my faux fur coat, pitching it on the wooden chair, I smoothed a hand over the sea-green coloured quilt, shelling the double bed, and gravitated to the window. Hand twisting the handle, I cracked it open, almost tasting the freshness of airstream.

In the distance, the sound of tranquilising waves crashed against the cypresses of verdant green, bonded to the cliffside. Instinctively, I closed my eyes to listen, the cold winds gently blowing through hair tendrils.

Unzipping my boots, kicking them off, alongside my socks, I rolled up my jeans, casually leaving them at the knees and unlocked the rickety gate. Seven steps guided the route. My bare feet touched the grassland, damp strands weaving between my toes.

Keeping my eyes shut, I outstretched my arms and brushed my fingertips above the overgrown grass, plucking out a delicate thread and weaving it with my fingers.

“Are you okay?”

My eyelashes fluttered open. “Yes.”

Hands stuffed in his jeans pockets, Jace came into my peripheral vision, standing beside me. “Summer loved finding shells,” he tells me, studying the peaceful ocean, a hard knot in his tensing jaw. “Not crabs, though,” he jokes, huffing a short laugh. “Never crabs.”

I smiled a sad smile. “What did you do with all the shells?”

“Make stuff, I guess.” Toying with an uneven rock under his boot, he lightly kicked to the right. “I mean, you can paint them, or craft keychains…” I didn’t need to see his eyes to know sadness and blurriness faded his views. “Are you hungry? I noticed a chippy on the way here. I could grab us tea and vodka?”

“As if I’d turn down the good stuff.” Faking a cheesy grin was easy, but cutting the wrought iron wreath, strangling my aching heart, deemed to be impossible.

Jace’s mouth opened, but those words, swallowed and undisclosed. Dipping his head, he retraced his steps.

Sand melted under my feet as I continued to the beach. I never stopped walking, not until the shoreline was within reach. Bitingly cold, the foamy waves washed the grains from my toes.

Hunkering low, I sat comfortably, hiking my knees to my chest, arms swaddled to my shins. Soon, the cold was a hazy memory. “What are you doing, Alexa?” I wondered aloud, pursing my lips. Finding myself, I thought, grinning stupidly.

To my left, rock-pools homed at the base of the cliff. Pushing onto my feet in an unrefined, frenetic leap, I ran, determination in each pounded step to the sand.

Tumbling to a stop, before I could scrape or catch my feet, I positioned my hands on perfectly carved surrounding boulders, utilising them to clamber up.

Through murky waters, I delved and beachcombed, hands wading, jeans drenched to the thighs. Acorn barnacles, slippery seaweed, limpets and sea anemones. “Come on.”

Parking my backside onto a protruding rock, discarding debris to the sand, I flattened my palms to the unshaped ground. My fingers traced a sharp item, and a small smile danced on my lips. Cupping it to the surface, I thumbed wet sand from the yellow-brown shell, its previous occupant rehomed, I imagine.

Hiding it in my pocket, I climbed out of the rock-pool and headed back to the log cabin.

Jace still hadn’t come back. I grab a towel, a change of clothes and shower essentials and leave them in the bathroom while I peeled the sodden jeans from my body.

Beside my bed, I opened the bedside drawer and placed Summer’s shell inside. “Let’s make you a new dreamcatcher, princess.”

Chapter 6

Liam

I attended an early morning breakfast with the men, accompanied by expensive champagne and Cuban cigars, the picturesque sunrise feeding warm light to the restaurant’s outdoor seating assumable and deceptive horizon.

Fuelled for the day, I ordered Nate and Josh to meet with an alliance at Gateway to transfer last night’s firearms delivery: fifteen cranes of high-end handguns and magazine rounds.

Before relocating to central London, when I was just a young lad who wished for a different life, I laboured industriously to build a systematic round and a disciplined customer base, but selling single firearms to street junkies or bent politicians for pittance ceased. Illicit trade of contraband incorporates a smaller circle of clientele, but those money-hungry arms dealers pay extortionately to take those cranes off my hands with the intentions of distributing to gunrunners for small marginal profits—akin to drug trafficking. It’s a win-win situation. I import stock, supply on demand and benefit advantageously.

I own a lucrative night club with eye-catching working girls, offering additional extras to pleasure seekers, a due-to-be-open casino, and an impressively ornate five-star restaurant. Both businesses are unproblematic bricked buildings utilised as a meeting ground for the organisation—façade. In reality, they involve an intermingling of legitimate profits with lucre from lawlessness; it’s a great way to mislead law enforcement.

When handling the black market and criminal underworld, opportunistic serpents who strive to abdicate my throne—rain hellfire on my city—occasionally rear their heads. The syndicate exterminated troublesome pests with my go-ahead; however, today, while Brad visited Fat John, the forty-three-year-old bookie from Camden, I decided to avail. A friendly visit if you may.

“I got the money,” John Bellowed, crawling like an aids-ridden dog as Brad aloofly strolls behind him. “I just need a couple of days, Warren—”

“You said that last week.” Brad, as impatient as ever, kicked the male under the chin, sending his corpulent body into a howling heap across the floor.

“Please,” John sobbed, rubbing intermixed tears and dribble from his blood-stained teeth. “I can work off my debts—”

“Enough,” I said curtly, bored of his theatrics. “Stand.”

Brad ran a hand over his head before gripping John by the scruff and towing him upright. “You got ears, twat.” He forced John onto a rickety stool and lathered his face with a napkin, dabbing and eliminating blood splatters. “If the Boss orders you stand, you fucking stand, got it?”

Nodding sycophantically, John inhaled a calming breath and waited.

“Twelve months ago you came to me,” I began, a stoic mask in place. “If I remember correctly, you pestered me for five weeks, demanding that I sit with you.”

He gave me a curt nod.

“I acquiesced, John. I sat at a table with you and heeded to your uncompelling argument. I even offered you a drink.”

“I was grateful,” he insisted, his eyes beseeching me. “You loaned me money, Warren. For that, I will forever be indebted to you.”

“I am not a charity service,” I clipped, and he snivelled. “Terms and conditions, John. With interest, I issued the funds, on the basis, you’d repay my generosity.”

“The business,” he gestured to the smoke-stained walls, tattered leather seating accommodation and wall-mounted televisions. “People don’t got money to bet these days, Warren. It’s dry. I’m lucky to get a dime. What, with the recession and all that.”

I blinked once. “Not my problem.”

Brad locked the door and turned over the sign.

John watched, absorbed. “Why did he turn the open sign? I can’t shut shop, Warren. I need the punters.”

On his wrist, a designer watch caught my eye. “Nice watch.”

His hand automatically clamped over the white diamonds. “A gift from my Ma—” I seized his forearm. “No, Warren! Don’t take my watch—I love this damn watch.”

Shoving my knee between his thighs, ripping a strangled wheeze from his throat, I applied brute strength. The unbearable pain wilted him, and I didn’t alleviate his ball-crunching disarray until the Rolex fell onto my palm.

“Bastard,” he shrieked the second I stepped back, cupping his manhood. “You broke my dick!”

I gave him an eye-roll, weighing the jewellery in my hand.

Brad’s head appeared over my shoulder. “Nice,” he extended a low whistle. “How much did that cost you, John?”

“A gift,” he grated out, “from my Ma.”

“Empty the cash registers,” I said to Brad, and John stumbled off the stool. “Hit the office, too.”

“No, Warren. Don’t do this to me.” Limping, he waddled behind Brad, sweat to his T-shirt. “Come on, Brad. You’re good people.”

Brad popped an eyebrow but didn’t respond. Plucking up the till keys from the service desk, he rounded the counter, unlocked the cash register and cleared the money.

Defeatism radiates from John. He’s lost the will to fight, to barter or beg, but when he sees me thrusting a magazine into the Desert Eagle, his potbelly and round shoulders postured ramrod. “No, don’t do that. I don’t deserve that—”

“Shut the fuck up,” I barked, cocking the gun, aiming at his face. “How shall we play this? Kneecaps? Head or chest? Ask me nicely, and I’ll go for the heart.” My lip curved into a sinister smirk. “I hear it’s less painful.”

His mouth gnarled.

I thumbed the safety lever, the tight clip jerking him.

“Wait!” Holding up his hands in surrender, he shook violently, pondering senseless reasonings. “What if I share some truths?”

Brad re-emerges, the man’s earnings stuffed into a black sack. “Quit chopsing, Baldy. I am Hank fucking Marvin.” He flung the goods over his shoulder, pausing intolerantly beside me. “You know how cranky I get when deprived of fodder.”

I’ve never met such a melodramatic prick in all my life.

“The streets.” John used my procrastination as an invitation. “They talk, Warren. I have heard a few rumours. You know, I could help you.”

“How the fuck can you help us?” Brad asked, directing a cruel glare.

“You got hit,” he said to me, optimism in his gleaming eyes. “At Mario’s, right?”

Inwardly flinching, I sliced my eyes, hand taught to the Eagle.

Brad flared his nostrils. “Glossectomy, Bossman.”

“Glossectomy…?” Sickly pale, John clamped his mouth, sucking on his tongue. “No, I can help. Went to a pub last week and heard people talking—two guys said you had a bounty on your head.”

“Are you fucking with me?” I asked, but my gut told me to believe him. “Who are these men? And what fucking bounty?”

Licking the blood from his teeth, he cautiously lowered his hands. “I don’t know their names; I never met them before.”

“Where’s the pub?” asked Brad, a threatening aura in his darkness. “Where’s the fucking pub, John?”

“East London,” he stutters, taking an almost imperceptible step to the right. “Nice corner joint, Warren. Near the Old Spitalfields Market.”

I jogged my memory, coming unstuck.

“I know the place,” confirms Brad, rubbing the scruff of his jaw. “Descriptions?”

“Vaguely…” John, sealing his fate, bolted for the door.

I allowed six steps, aimed for the back of his head and blew the trigger. Impacted by the bullet, his dead body went down like a sack of shit, thumping on the ground.

“We still need those descriptions.”

Ignoring Brad, I lit a cigarette, dodged the dead man and exited the bookies.

Grunting out, Brad traipsed alongside me, one hand in his trouser pocket, the other firmly latched onto the sac.

Sitting on a rustic bench, waiting for a bus, an older female observes the hustle-and-bustle, the streets of London, commuters and ubiquitous traffic.

Discreetly, I dropped the watch into her leather handbag, drowning out a yapping Brad as we zoned in on the parked Bentley.

***

Inside the office at Club 11, throned behind the mahogany desk, I positioned my elbows to the knees and palmed my phone. Alexa left for Cornwall this morning. I didn’t text; she didn’t text. Yet, I keep checking my phone, craving her assurance. I missed the days where she worked downstairs, the nights where I could admire her from her afar or coax her to join me inside the sanctuary of these four walls. I missed the times where, yes, our relationship soared to feverishly dangerous heights, but those short-lived instances together were my sole purpose in life. Nowadays It’s a rare privilege to keep the beautiful butterfly within my reach.

Backtracking from calling, I toss the phone aside, pull essentials out of the drawer and create a deck. Blunt rolled, in hand, I bit off the twist and matched a flame, inhaling haze.

My door knocked.

“Come in,” I shout, kicking my feet up onto the desk.

The door crept open and in came Cherry, the vibrant red-head. Glass stilettos and a diamante G-string, she wears. Her voluptuous breasts, perk and pink, attractive on the male eye.

I, however, care not for the curvaceous flirt. Turning my head and toking another drag, I watched her drop stacks of rolled-up cash onto the desk.

“Tonight’s takings,” she purrs, parking her plump backside on the armchair. “Do you need any assistance, Mr Warren?” Tracing my jaw with sharpened fingernails, she cranes her neck to find my dismissive scowl. “I could send someone else if you’d rather.”

I hand her the blunt. “I’m spoken for, Cher.”

Bringing the roach to her mouth, she pinched her shimmer-painted lips around the end, inhaling a drag. Her blue eyes were like dazzling crystals, inarguably her best feature. “Oh, that’s right. You’re back with Alannah, right?”

Her attempt of feigning ignorance rioted raged. “Alexa,” I corrected, and she pouted her lips. “Disrespect her again, in my presence or absence, and I’ll tear out that wayward, vindictive tongue and make you choke on it.” Declining my feet to the floor, I closed in, snatching her snappable neck. “Have I made myself abundantly fucking clear?”

Throat straining on a swallow, she dipped her head.

“Good.” Reclaiming the blunt, I fell back on the chair and smoked enough marijuana to numb the pestering voices inside my head. “Where’s Cora?”

“With a client, Sir,” she whispered, fixing her waist layered diamante chain.

My phone jittered on the desk.

I leaned over to grab it, not recognising the caller identification. “Warren,” I answered, blowing smoke to the ceiling.

“Rock-a-bye baby on the treetop,” someone quietly husked down the receiver. “When the wind blows the cradle will rock.”

Hand crushing the phone, rechecking the screen, I sat taller. “Who the fuck is this?”

A female giggle resounds. “When the bough breaks the cradle with fall.”

I held out my hand, and Cherry gave me her phone. “Serenading,” I droned, texting Nate from her number, ordering him to the office immediately. “I feel honoured.”

Silence settled. “And down will come baby, cradle and all.”

Cherry, overhearing the outlandish conversation, morphed a duck face.

“I am glad you approve,” the unknown woman said. “Liam.”

“Warren,” I growled, and she cackled a snort.

Nate enters the office, and Cherry whispers something in his ear. Slipping on his black-framed reading glasses, he loads my computer, plugs a wire into my phone and opens a server. Holding up six fingers, he urged me to extend the conversation.

Unclenching my jaw, I asked, “What can I do for you…?”

Further silence greeted me. “You don’t need to know my name, Liam.”

The phone clicked coinciding with the computer screen, the ascending timer numbers going flatline. “Shit,” Nate spits, smoothing a hand over his freshly barbered hair-do. “Lend me your phone, Sir. I’ll track down the IMEI number.”

I went to pass him the phone when it vibrated in my hand.

My heart fractured. “Leave.”

Sharing a look with Cherry, Nate stood back from my desk, motioning for her to walk first. Delaying until the door closed behind them, I accepted the call. “Alexa.”

“Liam.” Her soft voice had my eyes closing. “Hey, I mean, I just wanted to give you updates. That’s if you want them, of course.”

Kneading my chest with the heel of my head, I loll my head back on the chair rear. “Always.”

“I checked into this seriously beautiful log cabin. It’s to die for, Liam. And the views? Phenomenal. I can watch the ocean from my bedroom window.”

I know she’s with Jace. It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask if he’s in that room with her, but instead, I trust she’s honest with me. “Sounds good.” I glimpse at my watch. “Any plans for the rest of the evening?”

“No, not tonight. Food, vodka and an early-ish night. I’ll get up at dawn, go for a run on the beach and then start all the touristy crap.”

“A run?” I’d pay to see that. “For what purpose?”

“I read that it’s a great way to clear your head.”

Her randomness had raised alarm bells. “Something bothering you?”

“No,” she lied, and I hated it. “I need the exercise, too.”

My lips stretched into a smile. “Am I neglecting you?” I had expected her mute confusion. “Do I not work you enough, Alexa?”

“Liam,” she said, a touch breathless. “Must it always be sex?”

“Are you complaining?”

“No.” She laughed, and my corded muscles relaxed. “Are you at work?” Her tone lowered, throaty and suggestive.

Respiring smoke, I finished the blunt and put it out in the ashtray. “Why don’t you just ask if I’m alone, baby?”

“Are you alone, Liam?”

“Yes.” My cock twitched. “Are you?”

“I’m in my bedroom, sitting on the bed, wearing only a towel.”

“Shower?”

“Hot tub.”

My scorching veins instantly froze. “You got a hot tub?” Pinching the bridge of my nose, I ground down on my teeth. Images of her in a bikini floated in my mind. Jace, that cunt sat beside her. “Sounds lonely.”

It’s a trick; I want to know if she’ll tell me.

“Only for the first hour,” she said anxiously. “Liam, Jace is here, too. I don’t want to lie or claim he never joined me, just to placate you. But you must know, as I emphasised before leaving, there’s only friendship here.”

My semi-hard cock withered. “You are testing my patience.”

“Liam—one moment,” she suddenly baulked out, muffling the mouthpiece. “Sorry, Liam. My tacos are ready. Can I call you back before I fall asleep?”

“Sure.” I clicked my tongue twice. “I love you, baby.”

“I love you, too,” she said, and I felt it to the bones. “Bye, Liam.”

I kill the call.

Nate waits for me outside the office. I give him my phone, and we head off in opposite directions. He’ll put his computerised skills to the test and deliver updates tomorrow, a name or destination of the mysterious caller.

Posted security uncurls their spines as I wander the halls, a short, sharp nod as acknowledgement. Punching the code to the main dance room, I swung open the door, invaded my clamorous clubland music and low hanging smoke. Snaking through throngs of partygoers, I head to the bar, disregard employees and head underground.

In the cellar Josh leaps off a steel keg, putting away his phone. “Boss.”

“Brad?” I asked, and he pointed to the chambers. I stopped at the door. “Josh?”

He righted his messy brown hair, the aftermath of female tugging. “Yes, Boss?”

“Isolated retardation is a cause for concern,” I berate, and he went red-faced in humiliation. Fisting his suit jacket, I yanked him over the threshold. “Quit looking fucking pretty, lad. Do I pay you to sit around, doing nothing?”

When I clipped him over the back of the head, he cursed, rubbing the half-hearted ache I put there. “Sorry, Sir.”

Unbuttoning my suit jacket, bypassing amassed men, I maze beyond empty cells. Brad, furiously bored, never steered his eyes from me. Toothpick wedge between his teeth, he kicked himself away from the bricked-wall.

At Vincent’s cell, I grasped the deadbolt and unlocked it. “Are you ready for a chat, Vincent?” I dumped the nuisance down here last night whilst I pondered how to handle him.

Although suavely suited, Vincent’s handcuffed, his arms bound behind his back. Cracked, dry blood mars his left eyebrow, an unpremeditated fist to the face, delivered from Brad. “Even prison officers offer the inmates water and a bite to eat, Liam.”

“Warren.” Sliding the metal gate to the side, I clicked my fingers, treating him as if he were a dog. “Up. Josh, tell the others to leave.”

Josh sprints down the dimly lit, echoing hall, commanding the men to go. I hear him close the door, privatising our altercation.

Yawning, Vincent lazily rose to his feet, rolling his shoulders back and forth. “The floor was a tad uncomfortable.” His light-heartedness was a conscious act to veneer deception. “Crick in the neck.”

Extracting the Eagle from the waistband of my trousers, I signalled for him to lead. Scaling from his dark chambers, he unhurriedly overtook—not without a scathing glare first—accentuating his height.

He’s tall, I thought, marking his footsteps. “Under the light.”

Chuckling darkly, Vincent tilted back his head. The jokester, peers up at the hanging bulb, a low, amused smirk on his lips. “Very dramatic, brother.”

“I am not your brother,” I said indignantly, extending my right arm, the gun gripped under rigid fingers. “My mother birthed one child, one son before the whoring bitch fucking snuffed herself. Do not come to me, Vincent, preaching bullshit. You and I both know that it’s humanly impossible for us to share blood.”

Brad, inquisitive yet overcautious, rests next to Josh by the first cell. His eyes glued to Vincent.

“That was a defensible speech,” Vincent said roughly, slowly licking his bottom lip. “And what of our father, brother?”

I scrutinised him haughtily. “No.”

“Really?” His scornful tone slithered across my skin. “How can you be so certain? I met the man,” he adds, and the knowingness in his cold eyes rattled entombed skeletons. “Before his murder, of course.”

Again, the conspiratorial gleam in his eyes unveiled the truth in mine. “Ray had one son.”

I feigned nonchalance yet grappled with dispersing the mysteriousness of our uncanny semblance. From his razor-sharp jawline to the jet-black waves, though, his hairstyle, longer and more pliable. Pale complexions and head-to-head heights. His ice-blue eyes reflected mine.

Vincent’s a younger version of myself. In truth, looking at him evoked those once depressing reminiscences of the East End, the bedsit. I spent too long in the bathroom, examining my reflection in the mirror.

No, I refuse to believe it.

It’s unfeasible.

Why am I on the verge of vomiting?

I overturned the image. Bill stares back at me, his arm over another man’s shoulder, the pictorial Caribbean island as their backdrop. “Brother from another mother,” I read the penmanship.

Betrayed. Confused. Angry. Hurt.

Rounding the desk, I fired the laptop and roamed the internet.

Raymond (Ray) Warren, CEO of sales company, Telecomservices.co, married to wife Evelyn, two stepdaughters—I skimmed over unnecessary details, then paused—divorced. Previous wife, V. Jayne. “Come one,” I complained, opening articles, hoping for more—anything more.

What more did I need, though?

It’s evident why Bill sent me here—to Raymond’s house. A man who was his friend? My alleged father? Or am I jumping to conclusions? Loads of people have similar names—the wife, though. The one he divorced. Could she have been my mother?

“Do I care enough to find out?” I recited the unforgettable question, the exactness of vacillation I had encountered when looming over my father’s sleeping body.

Brad discerns the inarguably disquieting alteration in my once detached performance, the slight itch in my voice. “Bossman?”

I stopped reading my father’s bio.

Why did I stop reading?

“What’s wrong, brother?” Blatant cozen scintillates in Vincent’s soulless depths. “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

“An uncomplicated job.” I point the gun at his face, but he doesn’t flinch. “For argument sake, let’s say that pathetic excuse of a man, indeed, fathered us both. Why do you so complacently believe it changes or means anything?”

“Is our bloodline not a prerequisite for compassion or understanding, Liam?” Another cryptic, double-edged smile. He’s truly the personification of audacious deviousness.

What game is he playing?

“You failed to follow instructions. Insistently, I lacked interest, yet you come to my club, fool my guards…” I am still pending an update for that one. “You entered and invaded the privacy of my office and, in a compromising state of pitiful helplessness, you ask for compassion.”

Glaring at me from beneath dark hooded eyebrows, he licked his upper teeth.

Why can’t I read him?

“He’s attempting to get under your skin,” Brad spoke in solidarity, coming before me and obstructing my optical axis. “Isn’t that right, Vinny Boy?”

I merged with Brad, a united front. Imperturbable and downright heartless, I counted inside my head, trigger finger twitching. “It’s not personal, Vincent,” I taunted, my expression grave. “I did, after all, kill my own father.”

In a mechanical, animalistic movement, Vincent’s once cuffed arms, whipped from behind his back. His main target, Brad, failed with his gun—and I almost aimed fire, one nanosecond, but Brad’s back suddenly met Vincent’s chest, the unbreakable chain, locked and choked around my right-hand man’s neck.

I will not risk losing Brad.

“How unfortunate?” jeered Vincent, his fists tight to the handcuffs, asphyxiating the oxygen from Brad’s windpipe. “Quite disappointing, brother. I was told your gut never failed you.”

Brad’s hands adhere to the chain, his legs thrashing to gain an advantage. “You…cocksucking…motherfucker,” he spits, bearing his teeth.

“Take one more step,” Vincent cautions, side-eyeing Josh, “and I’ll hack his fucking throat.” Noting the faint glimmer through his whitened knuckles, a blade, I clicked the Eagle’s safety lock in place. “I asked for your time, and you denied it.”

“I want nothing to do with you, Vincent,” I said, and I meant it.

“Ah,” Brad braked, flinching in Vincent’s indomitable confinement. Beneath the chains, a rivulet of blood trickles down his neck, the consequence of Vincent’s forbearance. “Josh!” His worried eyes rounded, and Josh shifted with his wielded Glock. “Don’t you fucking shoot! I swear on everything bastard Holy, if this twat kills me, I will haunt you into suicide!”

Fixedly, Vincent observes, wanting to get a rise out of me. “What if I told you that we share a common interest?”

His question piqued my attention, but I remained closed-mouthed. “You played us.”

“I did what I had to,” Vincent said, his lips teasing Brad’s ear, tongue flicking his lobe. “The syndicate blocked any form of contact from me. I couldn’t call, text, email. Mr Alzaim’s quite the intellect—very savvy. I waited. And waited. And I waited,” he deadpans, bending a deriding eyebrow. “I am tired of waiting, brother. Apologies for this shambolic abduction but I did what I had to.”

Son of a bitch.

Fisting Brad’s hair, he walked them back a step. “You’ll thank me,” he continues, hurling a memory stick across the floor, “someday.”

Brad barked out in pain, his knees buckling. In an indecipherable movement, Vincent alleviated the chain from Brad’s neck and booted him in the spine—I evaded his spearing body and chased a fleeing Vincent from the underground, aimlessly firing bullets, metal castings, clattering off the walls.

Vincent doesn’t look back or reciprocate gunfire. He’s armed, yet hasn’t reached for his gun. Barrelling through the door, into the cellar, he lunges over a steel keg and ascends the metal stairs two at a time.

Hot on his heels, sweat dripping down my spine, I belted up the staircase, the clubland music reverberating increasingly louder.

“Hey!” I hear one of the dancers yell over the pounding bass. “Watch where you’re going, asswipe!”

Colliding into her, knocking a tray of glass shots out of her hands, I ditched the long-stretched bar and bulldozed through customers like a bowling ball to pins, not hanging to hear their chastisement.

Vincent glides the stairs to the entrance and has the audacity to smirk at me before ducking between bouncers, disappearing outdoors.

“Don’t just fucking stand there!” I spit, elbowing through their hoarded gossiping. “Shoot that motherfucker!”

The night air hits me in the face. Panting and sweating, I sprint into the middle of the road, evading vehicles, head whipping from left to right and, in the misty distance, beyond carousing entertainment seekers, I see Vincent. He falls into a matte black Bugatti, ignites the engine and speeds into the nightfall, tires shrieking in his wake.

“Boss.” Gavin, the head doorman, blunders next to me. “I don’t know what—”

I jawed him, hard enough to crack a gold tooth.

Crashing into the wall, bringing a myriad of glamorously dressed females with him, he cupped his cheek, licking blood from his teeth.

Nate, fixing his nose ring, helps a younger female stand. He sweet talks her and the admiring friends—complimentary drinks and free entrance for the inconvenience of his Boss’ short fuse.

“What happened?” Nate asked, folding his arms.

“Find Vincent.” My world flipped on its axis. “And kill him.”

Chapter 7

Alexa

My initial days vacationing in Newquay were enlivened by a blurred adventure of piquant alcohol, food consumption and awe-striking sight-seeing. Jace assigned himself as a tourist guide. Bright and early, he ventures into the village to buy essential breakfast ingredients—apparently, my best-friend loves to cook—and for over an hour, he gathers information on historical, cultural and contemporary heritage with the town’s cicerone. After spending such a long time with the “old woman” at the visitor centre, surely, he’d escort me to the Harbour’s fishing port or 18th century Terrence cottages? That’s where his lady friend recommended, right?

“You make a mean bacon butty,” I said, delving into my food.

“Glad you approve.” Jace, stood at the stove in low hanging joggers, fries an egg on the pan. “Do you want another one?”

“No, I’m good.” Picking up a glass, I washed my food down with fresh orange juice. “Do you want to pop into Huer’s Hut?” It’s a trick question. “Well, I guess you must, considering there are fifteen duplicated brochures stuck to the fridge.”

“I think we should hire some boards and go surfing.”

My left eye twitched. “I don’t know how to swim.” Partly true. I have one unforgettable experience of dog-paddling—I almost drowned, too. “What about those cottages?”

“No, I’m not into ancient crap.”

I didn’t think my eyes could narrow any further. “Yet you go to the tourist centre daily for historical information.”

Buttering a cob, he puts an egg atop the bacon, slathers it with brown sauce and engulfs half his food in one bite. “Alexa, you sleep like an old bird with hypersomnia. If I didn’t go into town every day, I’d be on the porch for six hours, bored and drinking alcohol.” Back to the counter, he sucked sauce from his thumb. “I’ll be a borderline alcoholic within two weeks.”

Hmm. I persuaded one’s self that Jace only wore his best T-shirts and jeans for the apparently “old tour guide”—which, to be candid, I don’t honestly believe she is old at all. His current behaviour leads me to think she was a leggy young blonde with a cute accent. “Maybe I can join you tomorrow?” I hinted, searching for a dent in his aloofness. “Help arrange the next trip.”

Scarfing down a big bite, he set the dirty plate in the sink. “The day you roll out of bed before six a.m.? I’ll show my ass to the whole of Newquay.”

Oh, he challenged my inner competitiveness. “I’ll hold you to that.”

The following morning, I pushbike clumsily beside a naked Jace. Well, half-naked. Wearing boots only, cupping his manhood, he stomps beside me, refusing to entertain my unceasing laughter.

“Jace—” Uncontrollable merriment vibrated within me. “Oh, God. I can’t stop.” Hands grasping to the handlebars, I peddled worse than a five-year-old child, learning to ride a bike. “Make it stop,” I hiccup, head nuzzling into my shoulder to wipe tears of laughter from my cold cheeks. “Get over it already.”

Flinging me a scathing glare, he trekked ahead, the early sunrise, illuminating his clenching backside.

“You are such a sore loser!” I yelled, the bike wheels juddering under me. “Why is this so damn difficult.”

Coming to a quick stop, Jace, keeping one hand to his groin, scratched the sweat from his bare chest. “For starters, you ride too slow.”

He’s shockingly certifiable. “If I go any faster, I’ll plummet to my death.”

“Don’t be such a drama queen.” Before I can twitch-peddle past, he steals the handlebar, bringing me to an instant halt. “Right, you need to trust the roads, Alexa. Look around.” Outstretching his arms, he gestured to the tree-lined, long-drawn-out barren road, and I diverted my eyes away from his legendary Prince Albert. “No pedestrians. No vehicles. No wild boars—” A rusted old pick-up truck sped past, the tires kicking up accumulated dust. “That was an exception.”

“I am still reeling from the ‘wild boars’ comment, Jace.” Positioning my feet to the floor, I lean back on the seat and stare at the beautiful kaleidoscopic palette of pink, purple and red in the sky. “Are boars vegetarian?”

His slow blinking eyes encourages me to question my rationality. “Omnivores,” he states as though it were obvious. “It doesn’t even matter, Alexa. There aren’t any wild boars in Newquay.”

Why am I such a gullible halfwit?

“You might want to cover up,” I said, jerking my chin to an advancing female jogger. “Incoming.”

Standing ramrod, Jace recovers his junk and glances across one shoulder. “Shit.” Unexpectedly, he drops his head to my chest, which misleadingly resembles a guy enjoying a quick nipple suck in the middle of nowhere. “Did she see me?”

Modelling skin-tight yoga pants and a vest, the woman unplugs her headphone and slows her pace. Magnetising in our direction, she chugs down water as she marvels at Jace’s incredible artwork.

Why do others make jogging seem so easy? I went for a midnight run and lasted five minutes before doubling over at the waist and swearing blue murder to never channel my inner fitness goddess again.

“She’s gone,” I lied, fisting the back of his hair. “You can stop hiding now.”

“Fuck,” he cursed, lifting his head. “It’s inappropriate—me out here in all my naked glory.”

“Jace?” Blond ponytail bouncing, she dabbed sweat from her brow. “I thought I recognised you.”

“Kim…” Furious, Jace side-eyed me, an unspoken threat of strangulation in his pinched eyes. “Morning run?” he mused, and I snorted. “Obviously.”

“Yes.” Folding her arms, she scrutinised us, solicitous and pale. “Is this your…?” There was a rasp of accusation in her voice.

“Alexa,” I introduced, giving her a friendly handshake. “I’m Jace’s sister.”

“Kimberly.” Relief blazed in her pretty brown eyes. “Why are you naked?” she asked him. “And in front of your sister, nonetheless.”

Jesus, I forgot his cock was flaying about.

I inwardly cringed.

Her sliced, conspiratorial eyes glided from him to me.

Jace, who’s yet to pipe-up, drags the titanium barbell between his teeth. “I lost a bet.”

Itching the crease between knitted brows, she asked me, “You made your brother strip, for a bet?”

Judgmental much.

Lips grimacing into a discomforted line, I chose the easy way out by ignoring their awkward stand-off to watch a bird flying above.

Jace looked pale and discombobulated. “It’s a long story.”

“Oh,” she said, her assurance withstanding. “Alright, well, I should continue my run…Will you be at the travel agents later?”

I choked on salt air. “Sorry,” I wheezed, coughing to clear my throat. “Flies.”

“Not today.” Jace’s cheeks burned red, and it took all my might not to antagonise his problematic situation. “Tomorrow.”

“Okay.” Disappointment ensued a fake smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow—it was lovely meeting you, Alexa.”

“Likewise,” I called as she powers into a steady jog. “Oh, I want all the juicy details, Jace.” When he doesn’t respond, I tug his earlobe. “She’s pretty.”

“I guess,” he agreed with lacklustre eyes. “What?”

Biting my inner cheek, I toyed with the tassels and beads, dripping from the handlebars. “Did you sleep with her?”

His harsh frown cooled. “Does it matter?”

Did it? It wasn’t my place to ask such a personal question.

“No,” We remained pensive as we talked. “I mean, I don’t know.”

“Alexa?” He rubbed a hand over his incredulous expression. “Are you jealous?”

“No—no,” I enunciated, desisting from laughter. “Our friendship was no coincidence; I genuinely believe we were destined to find each other.” My chest swelled with nostalgia. “I love you, Jace. Your happiness equals my happiness. If you want to date a different woman every day of the week? No issues are coming from my end whatsoever. But friends talk, right? I want you to open up to me, though.” Not lie to me about your early morning strolls, I thought, picking frayed rubber from the bike handle.

“You’re a girl.” A moan sailed from his mouth. “I can’t talk to you like I would the lads.”

And he has the nerve to call me a drama queen. “Why not?”

“It’s weird, I guess…” He prolonged an intense stare. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

“No, I vehemently protest, Jace. I want you to talk to me.” I re-balanced my right foot to the peddle. “Come on. Let’s trial and error. Tell me how you seduced Kimberly and how mind-blowing the sex was.”

Jace stared at me like I’d grown a dick on my head. “Seduced?”

I blinked double-time. “Do guys use different terminology?”

“Yeah,” he gripped the handlebars and walked backwards, helping me evade a fated bike crash. “I wanted to fuck her, Alexa. I saw a decent looking bird, liked her eyes and thought, I wouldn’t mind that pretty mouth wrapped around my cock. I didn’t ‘seduce’ her. I flirted with the other woman instead.”

I will never understand the male brain. “Why would you flirt with someone else?”

“Women aren’t the only ones who play hard to get, Alexa.” A car drove past, the driver belting the horn. “I seriously need to cover my ass.”

My knees jerked in a tense, circular motion, and the pedals thwarted beneath my trainers. “I can’t do this.”

“You can.” He alternatively withdrew his hands from the handlebar and laid a palm on my lower back. “It’s easy, Alexa. Just take your time and don’t panic. If you want to stop, gradually slow the pedals and set your feet to the ground.”

Nodding, I implemented a low speed. “What if I get run over?”

“You won’t!” he yelled behind me. “Eyes in front of you, Alexa.”

“Look, Jace.” Below the warm sun, I rode down the road with a compelling need to unfurl my arms and feel the wind through my hair. “I’m flying.”

***

I stood at the cobbled moss-covered wall, not recognising the weather-worn garden gate or the off-white brick exterior. Hunkering low in overgrown grass and unkempt woodland, the first level of the house had boarded-up windows, a damaged for-sale sign and strewn furniture from locals who treated the derelict, uninhabited grounds for fly-tipping.

Fuelling my lungs with fresh air, I cleared dark and unclear thoughts, opened the insecurely hinged-on gates and drifted down the pathway.

Previously, whilst Jace busied himself with Kimberly, I peregrinated throughout Newquay, from one shop owner to the next, asking everyone and anyone about the history of Adaline. Not one person recalled the name. I had almost given up hope when an older gent, reading a newspaper outside of the local pub, overheard my inquiries.

“Who’s asking?” The man’s harsh voice immobilised me. “We don’t like reporters around here, love.”

His straightforwardness explained why the tight-knit villagers trivialised breached topics. While he glared at me over the rim of his reading glasses, I felt the watchfulness of others, all keen to hear my response.

I didn’t wish to disclose my identity. Rather than probe the seemingly unapproachable and cantankerous older man, I smiled flatly, turned on my heel and held back tears.

Only five minutes would pass before a hand landed on my shoulder.

“You look like her,” the man said, his chest rising and falling.

Peering past his shirt-clad shoulder, I guesstimate the time and energy it had taken him to ascend the long hill. He left his half-eaten lunch. He holds a cane for balance. “She was my mother.”

I stand in the garden, the long spears of grass to my waistline. Curling my fingers around the frayed rope, I sit on the sun-lightened plastic seat, push off one foot and oscillate.

Back and forth.

Back and forth.

“Do you have a pen?”

Opening my handbag, I fossicked through random items and handed him a pen and notepad.

Leaning heavily onto his cane, he steadied the pad to my arm, the heel of his hand, keeping it in place. He jotted down directions and an address. “You can’t miss it,” he said, and I whispered gratitude. “It’s dilapidated but imposing—biggest house on the street. Quite Romanesque.”

Tilting my head back, closing my eyes, I swing until my heart’s content. Inhaling the scent of petrichor, I released the ropes and spring forward, feet landing with a thump. I turned to see how far I travelled.

Not much further than the little girl.

Ascending the wooden steps of the weather-beaten veranda, I omit the barricaded back door and trace my fingers across the wooden panel that conceals the window. Brooking no refusal, I tugged the splintered frame, the wood grunting as it weakens. Snapping and bowing, it slips off the windowpane, balanced dangerously by one fixture. I rattled the double-hung glass, riveted as it slid up. Dusting off my hands, I mounted the wall and pulled myself inside the dark cavities.

On my haunches, I unlocked my phone and utilised the torch. Drifting a soft veil of light over the dust sheets that drape old furniture, I slip down the hardwood sideboard.

Conceptualising my havocking thoughts was gruelling. I felt empty, hollow and confused.

Surely, as I wander through the shielding walls of my childhood, something more than hideousness can evoke my memories.

I shine the light down the hall, to the living room door. I freeze from head-to-toe. Not looking at me, Kathy, wearing the most ridiculous pink and blue pyjamas gazes down the hall. Her wild, unruly hair cascades over one shoulder. “Alexa,” she whispers from the living room door, signalling for me to follow. “Shh!”

Wide-eyed and aghast, I opened my mouth to respond when a little girl dashed from behind me.

Swallowing a panicked whimper, I clasped a hand over my mouth, marking the girls skulked movements.

“We can’t go in there,” she hissed, glaring up at her big sister. “Santa won’t come if we don’t sleep, Kathy.”

“Alexa,” sighed Kathy, kneeling to be eye-level. “He’s already been, silly.”

Speechless, the girl lifted Teddy to her chest. “Are you pulling my leg?”

“No.” Kathy giggled, tucking long strands behind the girl’s ears. “Shall we see what’s inside our stockings?”

Nodding excitedly, the little girl darted inside the room and, slowly but surely, her favourite person was right behind her.

“What did you get?” I combusted with an excited urgency to see them open presents. “Did you…?” Question dying on my tongue, I halted at the door, nothing but an empty room to greet me, a distant memory.

Feeling stupid, I pulled a sombre face and swept the loan tear from my cheek. A cold chill danced along the length of my spine, and I looked over my shoulder. Unadorned with a stained floral net curtain, the landing window cast light, beckoning me upstairs like the stairway to heaven.

Each floorboard creaked under my weight. At the highest point, I unclipped the curtain, allowing the sun to brighten the murkiness. I strolled down the hall, noticing sizable squares, faded against the patterned wallpaper.

“Where are the pictures?” I asked aloud, espying the door to my right. Holding the brass handle, I clicked the lock to go into my old bedroom and drew back the curtains, brightening the cosy space. “Pink.”

I hate the colour pink.

There are no concrete floors, steel walls and painful chains. The bedroom had a white bed frame with discoloured pink coverlets and countless stuffed animals. It had a stockpiled bookcase, matching white furnishings and a bead-designed chandelier. “Fit for a princess.”

Slumping onto the bed, knocking teddies to the carpet, I relaxed my head to the pillow and stared at the dreamcatcher, fixed to the ceiling. Rolling onto my side, cocking my leg over an outlandishly giant unicorn, I blew out an exhausted breath—I bolted upright, whipping hair from my face. Scrambling off the bed and moving to the vanity table, I fall to my knees and run my finger along the raised crease in the carpet.

Being careful not to break anything, I pushed the table across, felt the seam of the skirting board and tugged the carpet back. “Come on,” I complained, exposing the old floorboards. Flinging hair over my shoulders, I dipped my fingers under the damaged board and subtracted it with ease.

Inside the floor cavity was a stack of envelopes, held firmly together by multiple elastic bands. I soared to my feet and snapped the bands to read the penmanship.

Adaline Haines.

I was somewhat proud of my mother’s rebelliousness. She’d lived a fearful life, married to an abusive man, yet she found the courage to find some form of happiness. I didn’t need confirmation; I knew she received these letters from him, Tony. I recall the way she looked at him, how she smiled as he murmured in her ear. Although a child myself, I felt the reciprocated love between them.

Why would she hide them in here, though?

Realisation dawned on me. “Because he didn’t see me.”

Opening an envelope, the one tucked at the back, I begin to read their journey.

My dearest Adaline,

There is nothing quite like the beauty of the ocean. Although I am frequently lonely, the vast water and early sunrise soothe the interminable hollowness of my chest. Is it the solitude and warm sun on my face, or are those private moments a once beautiful memory?

I promised to let you go, not to burden you, after all, I put you through; however, letting go is a lot easier said than done. We did not separate because of unrequited love. In actuality, we drifted apart when loving each other was carefree, untroubled and undying, so saying goodbye is not the same as segregated hatred.

Do you still loathe all that I am?

I pray that you do not.

Did you leave Newquay?

Did you start a new life for yourself?

Will this unwanted letter fall into the hands of another?

Are you more beautiful now than ever before?

I hold you in my thoughts,

Tony.

Folding the note, I return it to the envelope and open the next.

My dearest Adaline,

I promised never to write another letter, but I feel it is impossible to live and forget, as even in death, my buried heart will belong to you. It is difficult, not seeing you every day, not hearing your voice. I try to fool myself into believing I do not need or want you, but your eyes, your smile, your everything invades my reflective thoughts. I guess it is true what people say about the art of love. It never truly gives up, does it?

Do you miss me as much as I miss you?

Am I selfish to ask such a question?

My sincere apologies, Adaline.

I will not bother you again, but I will hold you in my thoughts.

Tony.

Respiring a shuddered breath, I skimmed through enveloped and picked one from the middle.

Adaline,

I wish I had never returned.

Why did I return?

For you, I came home. I left everything at sea, as you requested, or did I imagine that only letter? After years and years of writing to you without response, I finally built up the courage to let you go. Not in my heart. Never in my heart. But I told myself that you were better off without me.

Heartbroken, you had told me. You said that you were sad and heartbroken. You proclaimed to miss me so painfully that life without me was no life at all. Yet, in the midst of my return, I do not find you awaiting. No, you walked past a devastated man with a husband on your arm.

Patrick Haines.

How long did it take you to climb into my best friends bed, Adaline?

Was that part of your response lost in a separate letter?

What about your daughter, Kathy?

Were you ever going to tell me?

When did our devised future become so manifestly impossible?

I am torn between sending this letter and burning it.

You broke my heart, Adaline.

Tony.

“Jesus, Mother.” Placing the note back, I contemplated reading more when my phone vibrated. I checked the caller and butterflies uncaged in my chest. “Liam,” I answered, but nothing came forth. “Hello?” I double-check the screen. It blackens, dead battery. “Shit.”

I make a mental note to call Liam later. While preparing to leave, on the top envelope, I see a recipient of the letter. Tony’s final words to my mother were written here in Newquay.

“Fuck it to hell.” Sitting on the edge of the bed, I unfold the note, determined resoluteness as I read through his harrowingly painful yet exquisite words.

My dearest Adaline,

You thronged in the village, accompanied by your family, two doting daughters and a husband I shall not acknowledge.

Today, I observed your travels from afar, admiring all that you are. Even when scarred, bruised and marked, I cherish the rarity of your smile and the magnificence of your natural beauty.

You are forbidden, the voice inside my head proceeds to tell me. Yet, although often worlds apart, I cannot lessen the strain you have on my heart.

Is it because I am weak?

Is it because I am selfish?

Perhaps, my love, it is due to you.

You found my eyes and held them with yours.

It was a promise, was it not?

I smiled, and you blushed. It reminded me of the good old days, back when we were young. I lived for those instances, Adaline. The pained love in your eyes; the late-night drives and naming stars…

Relocating to the window, I peered to the now dark sky, joining the constellation of twinkling stars.

…all while caged in the protection of my arms.

I yearn for the day I do not have to share you with him. But I am still sitting on my porch, stargazing and writing this letter with a beautiful woman on the chair beside mine, dreaming of a happier life.

She should not be here.

Why are you here, Adaline?

Why do you come to me yet stay with him?

I can protect you; I will always protect you.

Please if you love me at all…choose me.

I will hold you in my thoughts,

Tony.

My heart ached for them. “I think you are wonderful, Tony.”

Chapter 8

Alexa

Nailing down Liam for a phone conversation was unachievable. I call him and reach his voicemail box; he calls me and meets an automated message. We aren’t avoiding each other on purpose, but the long-distance between us has already impacted our fragmenting relationship.

On occasion, I receive a text message, usually, in the early hours, where his sleepless routine conflicts my slumber time.

Truthfully, though, I could return his call right now. It’s two thirty-four p.m., and it’s liable he’s at Club 11, eating a late lunch with his favourite Suits, but I am somewhat apprehensive. I promised to leave Newquay once my two weeks commenced. Tomorrow marks day ten, and I am nowhere near ready to go back to London.

With the exception of sight-seeing, beach trips and shell picking, late-night vodka sessions and scrumptious baked goods from the local bakehouse, there are numerous places left to visit. Well, again, that’s not entirely true. It’s a delightful village, but once you have seen one shop, you have seen them all. I mean, there are only several souvenirs you can purchase before the fridge spurns space for tacky magnets. And the boutiques provide cute, chic style clothing, but I wouldn’t be seen dead in floral ankle-length skirts and knitted cardigans.

I don’t feel any semblance of closure, though. Yes, visiting my childhood home had been solacing and finding my mother’s letters from Tony painted a relatively comprehensive image of what her melancholic journey exemplified.

“Why does it matter, Alexa?” Blowing over the surface of my coffee, I sipped from fine china, nosing at the middle-aged couple, eating toasted paninis opposite.

“Tomato and mozzarella?” With a plated sandwich elevated on a plastic tray, the café’s barista set down my order, asking if I required a coffee top-up.

“No,” I said, picking up a knife and slicing lunch into three portions. “Thank you.”

Moving to the next table, she clears leftover food and dirty dinnerware, slipping coined tips into her apron pocket.

I like this coffee shop. It’s merely a twenty-minute walk from the log cabin; the outdoor seating arrangement compromises overhead shade solution, and the wrought-iron and glass bistro tables leave plentiful space for company.

Fixing my sunglasses, I bite into the sandwich, the fragrant sun-dried sliced tomatoes melting on my tongue.

Unlocking my phone, I thumb through contacts and start to type Liam a text message.

Me: Hey, how’s it going?

“How’s it going,” I mutter, deleting the ridiculous question.

Me: So…I was thinking.

Telling Liam that I need more time was nerve-wracking. Texting was easier. It avoids arguments; It’s also a cowardly act.

I deleted the message.

Me: We keep missing each other, lol. I’m starting to think you’re avoiding me x

He replies within seconds.

Liam: Who’s avoiding who, Alexa?

I frowned at that.

Me: You sleep—never. I happen to like dreaming, Liam. Plus, I’m looking out for my future interest. You know, I hear a good night’s sleep abates wrinkles x

Liam: Why is a twenty-year-old woman stressed about ageing?

Me: Botox by the time I am thirty x

Liam: When you talk nonsense, I cannot help wondering if Brad’s your compatible other-half.

Eyelashes flickering behind my shades, I thrust my sunglasses atop my head and tapped a response.

Me: Brad’s a hot mess x

Liam: Are you trying to piss me off?

Me: Is it working? x

Liam: No.

“Such a liar.” Laughing, I sipped a mouthful of coffee.

Me: Well, I have already found my soulmate, thank you. And does leaving me a ‘kiss’ impact your officious reputation, Liam? Nobody has to know x

Liam: Soulmate, huh?

Liam: X

Grinning like a love-struck idiot, I pounded the screen with my thumbs when three dots danced.

Liam: Have you started packing? I will send a member of the syndicate to collect you.

Liam: Jace can fucking walk.

My amusement cinched to a sharp frown.

Me: Actually, I was planning to stay awhile longer x

I stared at the screen with bated breath. Phone jittering in my hand, I drew in an encouraging lungful of gallant oxygen and answered his call. “Liam.”

“You’re fucking with me,” he said hoarsely, and my eyes fluttered shut. Even when he’s angry or annoyed at me, I react foolishly to him. “Alexa?”

Despite being miles apart, Liam Warren has this insufferably inflexible cage enwreathed to my heart. His imperiousness toward me was all-consuming, breath-snatching and soul-capturing. “I love you.”

“Don’t do that,” he futilely scolds. “I’m not okay with this, Alexa.”

“Liam, I like it here.”

Long, drawn-out calmness extended our phone call. “Am I supposed to understand that ambiguous statement?”

“Yes—no. I don’t know.” Setting my scarcely touched food to the side, I balance my elbows on the table. “Listen, it’s not forever. But I want to tick a few boxes before leaving.” Moreover, I want to find my mother’s love. “I just need a little more time…”

“Get out,” Liam orders. Initially, I thought the short-tempered, hot-headed human was taking his frustration out on me, but I overheard a muffled, quarrelsome Brad in the background. “What are you doing?”

“Who?” I asked, and he sighed. “Me?”

“No, the other woman I’m fucking speaking to, Alexa. Of course, you.”

God, he needs to rewire that short fuse. “Eating lunch.”

A young mother meanders a pram throughout the outdoor dinner setting, dodging scattered seats and colourful flower pots. Spotting the empty chair at my table, she wheeled through hordes of coffee aficionados and points, a silent appeal to sit down.

Giving her a friendly smile, I nod.

“Why do you need more time? What are you looking for Alexa? Everything you could ever want is here in London.”

Liam often portrays himself to be an emotionless, uncaring man and, to some extent, I would be inclined to agree with him. In saying that, however, if he genuinely felt nothing for others, how did he fall in love with me? How does he differentiate which syndicate members warrant additional patience from him? Akin to his beloved and most trusted Suits, for example. In reality, although I am sure he’d stubbornly and strongly disagree, he’s very scorned, sometimes acrimonious, jacked-up and angry. He’s a judgmental grudge bearer and understandably so. Life before the organisation was no existence at all.

Unloved, neglected, unwanted and discarded, Liam trained himself from a young age to emotionally disengage from possible heartbreak and disappointment. Sustaining resentment and past grievances prevent old demons uprising.

I wouldn’t change Liam. I love him unconditionally and don’t want to picture a life without him. However, his stubborn characteristics correlate highly with maddeningly unchallengeable narrow-mindedness. “I wish to find my mother’s former lover.” I decide to be honest with him. “I want closure, Liam.”

“Why?” he asked, and I sank back in my chair. “It’s all in the past, Alexa. Let it go.”

My point exactly. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“I understand perfectly fine. Trekking down memory lane will not bring Adaline back, Alexa. Stop fucking with your emotions and come home.” He exhales what sounded like smoke. “Come home to me.”

My quiet neighbour pretends not to listen to my telephone conversation. Hand grasping the pram handle, she rocks her baby, fussing with his blue fleece blanket.

Across the road, limping out of the post office, I see a familiar face. Cane in hand, he stops to hold a brief conversation with another gentleman before they both rest on a bench.

Now is my chance. “Liam, can I call you back?”

Respiring a weary breath, he ends the call and the accustomed, yet ignorant disregard hurts my heart.

“Rock-a-bye-baby on the treetop,” the mother sings to her little one. “When the wind blows, the cradle will rock. When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall.” Peering up from over the pram handle, she smiles fondly at me. “And down will come baby, cradle and all.”

“He must love your singing,” I said, a bit spooked by her husky vocals and nursery rhyme choice. “I haven’t heard a peep.”

“It’s a girl,” she said flatly, and a mortified shade of red flushed my neck and chest.

“Oh,” I stuttered, reaching for my cold coffee. “I’m sorry. I saw the blue blanket and assumed…That was ignorant of me.”

“It’s okay.” She waved a dismissive hand. “My brother bought the shawl, and, well, he’s due any moment, so I made an effort by letting him see it.” Putting a cigarette between her lips, she used a Zippo lighter and lit the end. “Men,” she continues, wafting smoke from her face. “Ever so tactless.”

Buying a blue blanket for a little girl is indisputably something Brad would do. “Men see the world differently to women, I guess. I doubt your brother intentionally wrapped her in blue.”

Her green eyes seared into me. “That’s precisely what he did.”

Fair enough.

Wanting to catch the helpful man from previous, I opened my purse and set a twenty onto the table, extra for tips. “Well,” I stand, collecting my bag, “I should go.”

She blew out cigarette smoke, and its thick smog wafted into the pushchair. “Oh, can I ask a big favour before you go?”

“Uh,” I glanced to the gent, relieved he’s still occupied. “Sure. What can I do for you?”

Cigarette tight between her pinched lips, she stood, hiking her bag strap over one shoulder. “Can you watch the little one for five minutes? Only while I go inside and order a cup of tea.”

Me? Mind someone’s baby? “Um, I quite literally have no experience with babies.”

“She’s asleep,” she said, brushing past me to enter the café. “I’ll only be a second.”

Scratching the nape of my neck, I relocated to the woman’s chair and folded my hands on my lap. “Please don’t wake up,” I said to the baby, fingers playing the piano on my thighs. “I am so bad at this.”

Sweating uncontrollably, I dabbed inconvenient droplets from my forehead and lifted my head to peep inside the pram. Okay, so I am no Mary Poppins, but covering a baby’s head with a blanket might risk suffocation or entanglement, right?

“Shit.” I gingerly put my hand into the pram and, in a slow, do-not-disturb-the-sleeping-baby-finger-movement, I pulled the blanket back. Swaddled in an elaborate layette, the wide-eyed baby stares quite frighteningly back at me. “Hey, little one.”

Why hasn’t she blinked?

Am I that horrific to look at?

Clearing the knot irritating my throat, I check the café door, wishing mother dearest would emerge.

Humming a soothing tune, leaning closer, I cradle her small hand, which felt too cold in my possession. Inspecting thoroughly, I poke her knuckles softly, and that unmoving, porcelain-looking curled-up fist doesn’t budge. With more urgency, I strived to slip a finger beneath hers, and a harrowing tsunami of traumatic consciousness washed over me.

Shooting to my feet, thunderous heart uptight and wedged in my throat, I staggered past the buggy, knocking over china cups and mugs from the table. At the commotion, customers intriguingly watched my successful thwarting and unflattering blundering.

Storming inside the café, eyes hunting for the certifiable madwoman, I rudely jumped the queue of affronted customers. “Excuse me?” I called the male barista. “That woman,” I stuttered, and his grey eyebrow curled. “You know? The one who just came in here to order a cup of tea? She left a pram outside…” A china doll sheathed in a blue blanket. “There is no baby!”

“Sorry love.” He was utterly puzzled. “Explain that again. You are searching for a woman—”

“She left me to mind her baby,” I emphasised, unable to control my frantic breathing. “But there is no baby. Inside the pram,” I violently gesticulated to the panoramic window, “lays a fucking doll.”

“Oh, heavens,” one of the customers muttered to her husband. “Is she alright?”

“It appears not,” he clipped mockingly. “Annoying tourists and their baggage.”

“I am fine,” I snapped harshly, unprepared to deal with anyone else’s condescending demeaning today. “Look, have you seen the woman or not? I mean, do I just leave the fake baby outside? What if she’s unwell and truly believes it’s her daughter?”

“Love,” said the barista, pointing a marker pen to the five people held-up behind me. “Except for these folks, there’s no one else here, and the woman, the one with the doll…” He grimaced. “Yeah, nobody ordered tea. Are you sure she came inside?”

Did I fall asleep last night and wander straight into a twilight zone?

What’s happening right now?

“She said…” Licking my suddenly dry lips, I cleaved my tongue to the roof of my mouth and, in order to salvage whatever harboured sanity I had left, I wired my mouth shut, ignored everyone’s questioning stares and absquatulated the building.

The pram was gone.

***

“I was wondering if I’d see you again.” Hobbling on his cane beside me, Clarence, the older gent who earned himself a stalker, struggles with groceries.

I reach for his carrier bags. “Let me help—”

“No, I can do it myself,” he admonished, mulish and persistent. “I am no one’s burden to bear.”

Stifling a smile, I palmed my arms and brushed the evening chill from my skin. “That’s a suborn attitude, Clarence. I was only offering to carry your shopping, not become your full-time caregiver.”

Clarence, the ill-tempered old sod, cracked a toothy grin. “Was that an element of attitude I detected in your tone, Alexa?”

“What?” Faking offence, I slapped a hand to my chest. “Me? Give someone ‘attitude?’ Please, I am a dignified young lady.”

“Oh, you’re bleeding grand, alright. Tell me, Alexa, do you always follow barely acquainted individuals around town? We have a word for people like you in the dictionary.”

“Yes, I know, I am a renowned stalker, but I can assure you, I am harmless.”

“Kids,” he muttered crankily, and I bite down on my lower lip to refrain from cracking up. “Bleeding nonsensical, the lot of you.” Gasping a deep breath, he paused, giving himself an energising moment.

“Are you sure I can’t help with the bags,” I offered warily. “You don’t need to struggle when someone’s prepared to lend a hand.”

“No,” he bites, jerking his cane into motion and wobbling forward. “Rely on yourself only, Alexa and evade discontent.”

I caught up to him. “You remind me very much of someone I know.” He slung me an inquiring glance. “Oh, Liam. My…partner who lives back at home.”

“And where is home, Alexa?”

“London,” I said, absently toying with my necklace. “Actually, London’s just the vicinity. I don’t have a place to call my own yet.”

His curiousness evoked pleasant memories of Chloe and our two-bedroom flat. Yes, we lived on the rough side of town with loitering drug dealers and rebellious delinquents, but the council block served a useful purpose. Seedy or not it was still my home, a safe haven to share with Chloe, the girl—my best friend and sister—who likely heard of my reappearance via the news station.

I shut my eyes.

How unforgivable?

“Ah, you live in vagabondage.”

I parted my lips to argue my case when his innocuous assumption digested. “Yes, I am a jobless itinerant without direction.”

Clarence grappled a wooden fence with fumbling hands. “Well,” he said, jerking his head towards the detached Victorian-style home, “this is me, love.”

Mask firmly held in place, I inwardly scrutinised his unkempt garden and weathered home. “Thanks for the friendly chat, Clarence.”

Lips meshing together, he unlocked the garden gate. “Did you find what you were looking for after?”

Not quite. I had set out to ask Clarence about Tony, but I get the impression his abused kindness dieted over the years. I won’t implement myself to the list of people who disappointed him. “Do you have children Clarence?” Wincing, I held my hands up. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I asked—”

“Yes,” he confirmed, allowing me to see the sadness in his eyes. “A son.”

Chewing my thumbnail, I drift my gaze down the street.

“I lost contact…” His bogus lack of interest revisited. “Not that it matters.”

It matters, I thought, sympathising with the man.

“He lives on the corner.” Steadying the cane, he locked the gate.

I twirled the necklace between my fingers. “Who?”

“It’s a nice house,” he said, pacing leisurely down the path. “Got one of those big old willow trees. Now piss off. I got fish to fry.”

Bewildered, I shook my head at the outlandish man, yet gait down the street as instructed regardless. Maybe his son lives there. Yes, that’s plausible. Clarence wants me to intervene, but his weathering willfulness prevents him from asking directly.

Rays of scintillating sunshine streams through the rich willow tree leaves and barks, magnetising me into the well-kept garden. I pause to admire the water features and bricked beds ablaze with colourful flowers…

What the hell am I doing?

I don’t know Clarence’s son. If truth be told, I don’t particularly know Clarence, so why am here, ready to reunite a father and son?

What would I even say?

Oh, hey, I’m Alexa, the weird lady from London who started hounding your dad. I am not privy to your family spats, but I think you should go and see your pops—and while you are over there, get a damn lawnmower out and cut his grass.

I study the man’s freshly trimmed lawn. “Selfish asshole—”

“Are you lost?” A rough, baritone voice asked, and I wilted into a dead flower. “You’re standing on my herbs.”

“Herbs,” I mutter in disbelief, trudging my boots out of the dirt and squashing his pleasant-scented greens. “At least you got some damn herbs.”

Looking up, I regard him for the first time. Clarence’s son was a tall man and exceptionally nice to ogle. Wearing low hanging denim jeans and heavy-duty tan boots, he folded his arms at his bare chest, accentuating his sun-kissed muscular physique. With a speck of grey around his ears, his chestnut brown hair irritates his left eyebrow. “He doesn’t own a herb garden.”

He sliced his gaze, and a slight crease furrowed his eyes. “What?”

I marched to him. “Did he abuse you?”

Snorting, he squared his shoulders, ripping off a pair of green gardening gloves. “Who?”

“Your father?”

His confused frown held. “My father?”

“Yes, Clarence. Did he abuse you? If so, I will walk right up out of here and beat him with that bastard cane myself. If not, why are you leaving an old moody yet lovable man to rot?”

“Clarence?” He barked a laugh. “My neighbour?”

I blinked rapidly. “Am I speaking a foreign language?”

“Listen, lady.” Pointing a finger in my face, he dipped his head to bring us eye-level. “You got no right coming here and telling me what I should and shouldn’t be doing in life.”

He had a valid point.

“To answer your question,” he quipped, flinging the gloves onto a rustic bench. “No, I will not build Clarence a herb garden. For starters, have you seen the size of his dog?”

“Clarence has a dog?”

“He has five.”

Well, that shut me up.

“Oh, wow,” I blurted out, relieved the man hadn’t invited me in for a cuppa. “Okay, can we start over? As previously mentioned, I am Alexa Haines, the weird woman who’s attached herself to your dad. Now, I appreciate it’s none of my business, but I feel bad for the guy. His garden? Bloody shocking. I bet there are rodents…” He stared at me unblinkingly, becoming ghastly white with each ticking second. “What?”

“Clarence isn’t my father,” he whispered, his Adam’s apple jiving in his throat. “What did you say your name was again?”

I grew exasperated. “Alexa.” Extending my arm, I prompted a handshake. “I’m kinda holding out the olive branch here.”

His unreadable stare went from my hand to my face. “Alexa Haines?”

I withdrew my arm. “Yes, the weird—”

“Woman who criticised me over a man who’s not my father.”

Don’t laugh, Alexa.

I giggled impishly.

Red-faced and embarrassed, I pointed to myself. “That would be me.”

Stepping back, he ran a hand over his head. “Alexa…” Welling up, he put a closed fist to his mouth. “I see it now.”

Rendered speechless for the second time today, I scratched my creased forehead. “See what?”

“You won’t remember me,” he began, almost touching me and then retreating. “I was a friend of your mothers.”

Sudden light-headedness and drowsy unsteadiness trembled my knees. I slapped a palm to the stonework house, grappling for clarity. “Tony?” How did Clarence know? “I didn’t…” I was at a total loss for words. “Oh, God.”

A morose yet pleased smile tugged his thin lips. “You look like her,” he enunciated, staring hopelessly into my eyes. “Adaline.”

Needing to regain his unsettled emotions, he turned his back to me, clasping his hands aback his head. He looked up at the sky, and I watched intently, fascinatingly, lionising the man who stole my mother’s heart. “She loved you,” I whispered, and his sad, glassy eyes collided with mine. “She really loved you, Tony.”

His face scrunching up in denial, he pulled a hand down his puzzled features. “We were friends.”

“You were lovers,” I interjected, unzipping my handbag to retrieve the letters. “You don’t need to lie to me or preserve my memory, Tony. I’m a big girl.”

Stunned, he glared at the letters. “Where did you get those?”

“Oh, I broke into my childhood home and found them under the floorboards.”

His eyebrows jutted to his hairline. “You broke into my house?”

My eyes bugged out. “You own my old house?”

“Yes,” he confirmed, taking the envelopes from me. “I think you should come inside for us to talk.” His warm, tender smile palpitated my heart. “I make a pretty decent Irish coffee.”

“I like coffee.”

“Do you like whiskey?” he asked, gesturing for me to accompany him indoors.

I am not a whiskey drinker, but I do love the taste of Macallan on Liam’s tongue. “I’ll drink whatever’s on the menu.”

Chapter 9

Liam

Nate tracked the unknown woman’s IMEI number to a hotel just outside of Victoria. Using his self-proclaimed award-winning charm, he convinced the female receptionist to disclose clientele details. She provided him with booking references, and he laboured for six hours, narrowing down possibilities.

One name beckoned him.

“Here.” Nate, modelling a black Bobbi Parker coat, slips me a printed out email of her reservation details. “Molly Brown.” Perching onto the desk edge, he laced his gold-adorned fingers together. “I did some digging and didn’t even find a national insurance number.”

“Fake name,” Brad suggests, parking his backside onto the other side of my desk. “She knew you’d send someone to find her.”

Nate agreed, nodding his head.

Harrumphing, Brad bobbled his hair into a messy knot. “How can we be certain Molly’s the woman who called?”

“I combed through time-frames. Excluding an old married couple and a Columbian visiting his girlfriend, Molly was the only person who sat at the bar, using her phone.” Opening a leather folder, Nate organised surveillance images onto the desk. “Honestly, Sir, I think she wanted us to know. Look at the way she’s sitting—look at how she’s aware of the cameras. While on the phone, she’s looking towards CCTV.”

Examining one of the images, Brad whistles. “I wouldn’t mind this chick on all-fours.”

Rolling my eyes, I snatched the photo back. Molly sits on a barstool, tawdrily dressed as she consumes shots. “I sort of know this woman,” I said, recalling the blonde who bumped into Alexa the night we booked a hotel room. “Coincidentally, or rather, purposefully, she stumbled into me while I was with Alexa and claimed to have spent time with me, in this office, no doubt.” Jerking an insouciant shoulder, I tossed the image down. “Although I have no recollection, she implied that we fooled around. Perhaps I had fucked her once. Who knows? Even if I did, though, why is she hellbent on hounding me? What could she possibly want?”

Brad pops open the top button of his shirt. “Money?”

“The only way that bitch gets money from me is if I ram it down her goddamn throat.” No, it was deeper than money. I felt it in my gut. “What of Vincent?”

“I found a few businesses,” Nate said, selecting another folder. “Vincent owns a gentleman’s club.” He gives me the information. “He also owns a reggae bar and, get this, he co-owns a private club which is patrolled and monitored by maximum security.”

“We drove down there,” Josh continues, pouring everyone a glass of Macallan. “We couldn’t get past the gates. It’s a members-only club.”

“Cornering the perimeters and ordering the men to attack is an option.” Nate splays captured shots. “With your go-ahead, of course.”

“Vincent’s not hiding.” Josh knocks back a shot of whiskey. “He’s available for the taking, but he’s not making it easy for us, either.”

I concluded various scenarios. “And the reggae bar?”

“I spoke with the manager.” Nate accepted a half-smoked blunt from Brad. “He claims that Vincent only visits bi-annually. Other than that, Vincent leaves his employees to pretty much fend for themselves.”

My phone vibrated. I uprooted it from my pocket and opened Alexa’s text message.

Alexa: We keep missing each other, lol. I’m starting to think you’re avoiding me x

Contrariwise, Alexa, lately, is impossible to reach. I text, and she seldom replies. I call, and she never answers.

Me: Who’s avoiding who, Alexa?

Alexa: You sleep—never. I do happen to like dreaming, Liam. Plus, I’m looking out for my future interest. You know, I hear a good night’s sleep abates wrinkles x

Me: Why is a twenty-year-old woman stressed about ageing?

Alexa: Botox by the time I am thirty x

Brad noses at the screen. “Fuck, yes. I’ll take her for some Botox treatment.” He rubbed his chin. “I could do with some of those bad boys, too.”

Nate rasped a laugh. “Affirmative. Look at the wrinkles around your eyes.”

“I am not sporting any wrinkles.” Brad paled. “Not much, anyway. Just a few disobedient strays.”

Me: When you talk nonsense, I cannot help wondering if Brad’s your compatible other-half.

“Besides,” Brad scoffs, “I could have a face-full of defects and still bag more birds than the pair of you fucking wankers.”

Alexa: Brad’s a hot mess x

I typed a response.

Me: Are you trying to piss me off?

“Hold the fuck up,” Nate snapped, rounding his shoulders. “You ain’t no better than us, Brad. The difference between you and me? I got standards. You fuck anything with a pulse. Next chick could have tits but display a cock, and you’d still fuck that motherfucker up the ass.”

Alexa: Is it working? X

Brad slipped a toothpick between his lips. “You can suck your mum.”

Me: No.

Alexa: Well, I have already found my soulmate, thank you. And does leaving me a ‘kiss’ impact your officious reputation, Liam? Nobody has to know x

Fuck, I love her.

Me: Soulmate, huh?

Me: X

Me: Have you started packing? I will send a member of the syndicate to collect you.

Me: Jace can fucking walk.

Jace overstepped when targeting my woman’s back, so I felt no shame or compunction for wanting to wrap my hands around his neck and snapping it.

Nate flung a glass in Brad’s direction, fragmenting it against the wall. “Shut up with your fucked-up white ass,” he spat angrily, rising to his full, towering height. “Fuck my mother, bitch. Why don’t you go ahead and fuck yours—”

Feeling a rush of furiousness, I was out of my seat within seconds. “That’s enough!” Slapping a hand on Brad’s puffed-up chest, fisting his sweat-clinging shirt, I towed him in by the collar. “Walk in off, Brad. That’s a goddamn order.”

His round, furious eyes lasered in on Nate, but it wasn’t his expression that miffed Nate. It was his muteness.

“Nate, get out,” I spat furiously. “Josh, you can join him.”

Not alleviating the crippling grasp I had on my right-hand man, I bruised his ear with a harsh lambasting. “You brought that on yourself.” The muscle in his jaw clenched and popped. “Quit fucking with your brothers all the bastard time and keep your head on the job.”

Snarling, he faffed with his messy hair-knot. “Boss.”

I shoved him and collapsed back on the chair.

Alexa: Actually, I was planning to stay awhile longer x

My nostrils flare on an angered inhale. I called her.

“Liam,” she answered in three rings.

“You’re fucking with me.” No, she promised to come back. My woman doesn’t break promises. “Alexa?”

I heard her long, indrawn breath. “I love you.”

“Don’t do that.” This hapless behaviour grates on my last nerve. “I’m not okay with this, Alexa.”

“Liam, I like it here.”

There was a beat of silence. “Am I supposed to understand that ambiguous statement?”

“Yes—no. I don’t know.” Brad and another member of the syndicate argue by the door. “I just need a little more time…”

“Get out.” Between the misbehaving men and Alexa’s resilience to bring out the worst in me, I am the verge of dangerous combustion. “What are you doing?”

“Who?” she asked, and I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Me?”

“No, the other woman I’m fucking speaking to, Alexa. Of course, you.”

“Eating lunch.”

“Why do you need more time? What are you looking for Alexa?” I wallowed for months, grieving this woman. Unlike most, I was fortunate enough to get her back. Overlooking her decision to neglect her old life, I welcomed her home with open, loving arms and delivered Fagan’s head on a silver platter. “Everything you could ever want is here in London.”

When I first met Alexa, I was harsh, short, cruel and frequently inconsiderate to her feelings. I don’t live with regrets, I learn from mistakes and move forward, but how can I rectify the wrongs in our relationship when she insists on keeping us apart? You’d think, after spending so long without each other, she’d want to be here with me, making up for our lost time.

“I wish to find my mother’s former lover. I want closure, Liam.”

“Why?” No good comes from unlocking dark chambers and unearthing old skeletons. “It’s all in the past, Alexa. Let it go.”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“I understand perfectly fine. Trekking down memory lane will not bring Adaline back, Alexa. Stop fucking with your emotions and come home.” Lighting a pre-lit joint, I take a drag and fume a cloud of smoke. “Come home to me.”

“Liam, can I call you back?”

Jaw steeled, I lowered the phone and ended the call. Loading our messages, I shoot her a text.

Me: I love you, but I am a fool for no one. You say that I am a callous and uncaring asshole, yet, for you, only you, I have bared my soul on several instances and gotten burnt.

Do you want to know what fucks with my head the most? The fact you, Miss Haines, undertook my life, not the other way around, and it has been perpetual disorganisation for me since.

Enjoy your break.

Don’t expect me to be here if or when you return.

Downing a Macallan shot, pouring a third, I open the desk drawer and extract the memory stick Vincent ditched. Plugging it into my laptop, clicking the mouse and waiting for the file to load, I move to the glass-cased display unit. Selecting Si Tu Me Amas by Il Divo, I laid the disc onto the turntable’s centre spindle and affixed the headshell.

Idiotically, I check my phone before slumping behind my desk. Nothing. Not even a sarcastic or deriding bon mot to foment a diatribe or well-deserving reality check.

On the screen, the file opened an accumulation of images and videos. I dragged the server across and clicked file one. Vincent, suited to the nines, enters what seems to be an office, a woman in his shadow. Minimally robed and wearing an eye mask, she kneels on the floor and crawls seductively to him.

“What, you’re giving me amateur porn?” I laughed once, selecting the second folder.

On the video, Vincent paces a public bathroom suite, his strides fuelled by anger. His female companion mouths heatedly, swinging her arms back and forth. Curious as to whether the volume works, I amplify the speaker.

“What did I do to you?” she argues, and I tilt my head to listen closely. “I did everything you asked of me!”

“Basta,” he growled a foreign language, and she put her back to the basin. “You wound me.”

My temples throbbed. I bring the crystal glass to my lips and swallow a shot.

“Do not finish this, Vincent,” she cries melodramatically, and I almost picked the third video when she added, “What if I shared some dark truths with you?”

Interesting.

Kicking my feet onto the desk, I respired mind-numbing haze and watched their moderately entertaining theatrics unfold.

“I want nothing from you.”

“It’s regarding Molly.”

My legs descended in tandem. Increasing the volume, I set the joint onto the ashtray lip and text Nate.

Me: Get to my office. Now.

Vincent took a menacing step to the woman. “How do you know Molls?”

Black and silver pixels crashed the screen and then the video ended.

I was neither irked nor surprised that Vincent blocked the frame before his female friend enlightened me.

Vincent’s a perilous serpent. He’ll dangle temptation to lure you into his dark web of pervasive, underestimated insidiousness and ensnare you.

“Sir?” Nate called while knocking. “You wanted to see me?”

“Vincent, on the face of it, had a relationship with this woman.” I rewind the video so that Nate can examine the blonde. “She knows Molly Brown.”

Nate reclaimed the mouse and drew a square around the woman’s head. Reloading the internet server, he inserted the pasted item and roamed the web. “Weird.”

“What?” I asked, more intrigued than I cared to admit.

“Serena Hall,” he said, itching his jaw. “It’s saying that bitch committed suicide at thirteen.” He shows me death records. “Slashed her wrists when doing a stretch at a mental hospital.”

“It’s an image search,” I remind him. “Perhaps she resembles someone else, and the internet picked it up.”

Nate’s unconvinced. “What’s on the other files?” Skimming over images, we watch a slide of Vincent and Serena, from hotel visits to dinner dates. “Is knowing about her relevant to finding Brown, Sir?”

I was uncertain. “Why else would Vincent leave these in my possession? In fact, how does he know that Molly’s even infiltrated my life?”

Hands parking on the desk, Nate logs out of my email and signs into his. He combs through dated correspondences until he sees what he’s searching for. “We can contact him.” Unlocking the contact, he prepares to type. “On your order.”

Did I want to seek Vincent’s assistance?

My phone vibrated.

I accept the call. “Warren.”

“You amuse me,” Vincent said, further angering me. “You have this look in your eyes, brother. Is it frangibility that I see?”

Nate straightened his spine and sneakily flicked his eyes around the room to uncover Vincent’s hidden devices.

“How did you get past my men, Vincent?” Putting a hand in my trouser pocket, I stood and casually went around my desk. “We checked surveillance, and you were not on there.” I sensed my unknowingness pleased him. “And the one inside my office glitched before you could sneak through the door. Presumably, you had something to do with that.”

“I am a man of many talents.”

At the turntable, I killed the music and slid the disc back into its unspoiled vinyl sleeve. “I am beginning to realise that. Should I question your true intentions, Vincent? You claim to be that of my bloodline, but what type of brother invades another brother’s privacy?”

“As previously explained, Liam, you aren’t the easiest person to pin down.”

“Most would take the fucking hint.”

“I am like no other,” he said smugly. “Now, why don’t you sit down so we can talk.”

“Why don’t you put a gun in your mouth and pull the fucking trigger?” He went quiet; I ridiculed, “Vincent, did I hurt your feelings?”

“I am disappointed, Liam,” said Vincent. “I expected so much more from you.” Nate checks the mini-bar and wall-mounted paintings. “Tell him it’s inside the vent.”

I glanced at the ceiling. Nate, discerning the wordless command, climbs onto the high-gloss coffee table and works to deactivate Vincent from the room.

“Molly’s dangerous,” Vincent said, but I never faltered. “If not for you or I, Liam, consider Alexa.”

“Don’t,” I spat, fingers gripping the phone. “You will not discuss that woman with me. I am warning you, Vincent. Breach any form of contact with Alexa—”

“I protected her,” he barked down the receiver. “You ungrateful piece of shit. If it weren’t for me? Alexa would be dead.”

What the fuck is he talking about?

“It was me who had her back. I put my life at risk to preserve hers, so keep your fucking insults, brother.” My speechlessness humoured him. “Alexa didn’t tell you.”

My blood roared in my ears.

“The night you went after her father.”

“Who gives a flying fuck?” I husked out, yanking open the desk drawer and tearing through a clear bag with my teeth. “What do you want from me? A round-of-fucking-applause?” Emptying cocaine onto the desk, I drop a debit card from my wallet and cut lines.

Nate dropped the camera on the floor and crushed it beneath his shoe.

“It’s not me Alexa needs to fear,” he retorted. “Molly will target her to get to you.”

“Why doesn’t she come to me, then? Do you see me hiding?” Balancing the phone between my shoulder and ear, I rolled a fifty-pound note. “If she’s so hellbent on paying me back for a lousy fuck—”

“Did she tell you that, brother, or does your memory serve you well? I’ll go with the former. You haven’t touched that woman. It’s a ploy to get inside your head, and it worked. This is what she does. It’s one big, twisted mind-game, Liam. I can help you—I want to help you.”

Vincent’s cooled the antagonism. He sounded sincere, but how can I lay trust in this man. Blood brother or not, I don’t know him or his real motives. “What proof do you have that we share the same father?”

Let’s start with the fundamentals.

“A reliable source.”

“Reliable to you, maybe.” I snort a line from off the desk. “I trust no one.”

“We could quash your reservations instantaneously. Mr Alzaim could perform a DNA test tonight,” he suggested, and I look to Nate, who’s silently witnessing the conversation unfold. “I am a willing participant.”

“Why are you so eager to assist me?” I wondered aloud, sniffing another line. “What’s in it for you?”

“Isn’t it obvious, Liam? I want a relationship with my brother.”

Implausible, I thought.

“You don’t believe me,” he said, tsk’ing to himself. “You needn’t doubt me, brother. Alas, I am, too, familiar with rejection and abandonment. Need I remind you that Ray’s also my father. Unlike you, who got to uphold the Warren name, I was ostracised by him unreservedly.”

My lips twisted into a disgusted snarl. “I will never honour that fucking sperm donor with a title of reverence. He warrants nothing but hatred and execration from me.”

Phone beeping in my hand, I briefly checked the screen to see a late response from Alexa.

“We’ll do it,” I agreed, and he exhaled in relief. “Tonight. I choose the time and place, Vincent. You will receive a message thirty minutes beforehand.”

“I look forward to it.”

Vincent ends the call without response.

“Did you catch everything?”

Nate jerked his chin. “Sir.”

“Prepare to leave in the next hour. Bring the tests with you.”

Unlocking the office door, Nate exits on command.

I look at the text message.

Alexa: What in the world crawled up your ass? X

Two seconds later, an image grounded.

I am going to strangle that woman

Sucking cocaine off my thumb, I dialled her number and waited for her to pick up

“Liam?” Alexa piped up, a touch breathless. “That essay was uncalled for—”

“No, what’s uncalled for, Alexa, is you, once again, using your sexual appeal to distract me.”

“You didn’t like the pose?”

Alexa sent a selfie from the log cabin bathroom. In front of the mirror, she wears a red laced number, accentuating her small breasts and toned stomach. Her long, lustrous dark hair falls over one shoulder and—fuck me. I tug my trousers, making space for my aroused cock. “Does it invigorate you? Knowing you possess so much power over me? If you were anyone else…”

“I love how much you love me, Liam,” she confessed, and a mixture of want and anger pained my chest. “I just figured that last text was the result of a stressful day and I copped the aftermath, so I wanted to appease you. If that makes me a distraction, well, I won’t apologise.”

“You swore to never lie to me.”

“When did I lie to you?”

“Vincent,” I began, and I heard the clink of an alcohol bottle. “Are you drinking?”

“Yes, I wasn’t feeling too good earlier, so I numbed myself with vodka.” She burped and muttered an apology. “What did Mr Smith have to say?”

My face hardened. “Mr who?”

“Vincent,” she yawned. “What did he say to you?”

“He told me that he protected you the night of Fagan’s attack.” Plucking up my card, I drew through a line. “Is that right?”

“Yes,” she said without hesitation, and I immediately got my back up. “But before you lay into me, Liam, I never kept this from you to be disingenuous. By this point, you already knew of Vincent, and I felt it best you both discussed the alleged sibling topic yourselves—privately. I mean, if he’s your brother, then, well, don’t you think it would have been insensitive of me to disclose that to you before he did?”

“No, Alexa.” Fuck, I don’t want to argue with her over the same trivial bullshit. “Always first-hand from you. Do not put me in an unsuspecting position. I like to be one step ahead. You must remember that.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “It won’t happen again.”

I nursed a half-filled glass of Macallan. “Do you feel any better now the alcohol has kicked in?”

“Much,” she placates me. “Liam, I—just a minute!”

Jace’s intervening. Again. “You’re busy.”

“We ordered Chinese food.” I hear the floorboards complaining beneath her strides. “Can I call you back?”

“Of course.” Pocketing the call, I clambered off the chair and pulled on my suit jacket.

It’s time to face the music.

Chapter 10

Liam

Even a dangerous, hard-hearted man like myself is susceptible to death. I am not immune to gunfire or ballistic trauma, so, while a small fragment of my mind believed Vincent had no misleading or disingenuous intentions of conspiratorial entrapment, a bullet-proof vest facilitated sartorial refinement.

It’s rare for me to walk into any uncharted situation without the dutiful coalescence of my trained men. Tonight, though, only Nate escorts me to the hand-picked disused and dilapidated warehouse. Dealing with Vincent isn’t a syndicate matter; it’s a private matter to be kept undisclosed.

I strolled inside the rustic red building, the footsteps of my leather Ferragamo shoes, preparing Vincent for my appointed arrival.

Capacious yet pungently damp and mildewed, the asymmetrical space and damaged ceiling supplied scant lightning from the moonlight, but its scattered shadows sufficiently outlined the man waiting abreast support beams.

Casting aside his holdall, Nate positions two abandoned wooden cranes directly opposite each other and wiggles his fingers into sterile gloves.

Unlit cigarette balanced between my lips, I popped open the button on my suit jacket and took a seat.

Expressionless, Vincent imitates my movement, perching himself onto the crane.

Nate secured forms to clipboards. “Do you need a pen, Sir?”

I watch Vincent uproot a Parker from his inner suit pocket. “Yes.”

Passing me the participant document and a pen, Nate, not disguising his disdain, dropped a clipboard onto Vincent’s lap and then reclaimed his bag.

Clicking the top of my pen, I filled in personal details for the lab, feeling the intensity of Vincent’s scattered thought process. “Serena,” I said, writing ‘not applicable’ for most questions. “She committed suicide, correct?”

The sound of his scribbling pen ceased. “What?”

My jaw ached from continuously grinding my teeth. “The blonde,” I drawled, proceeding with the form. “The one from the videos you sent me.”

“You mean Greer,” he mused, and I looked at him face-on for the first time since arriving. “What about her?”

Nate’s shadow fell over me. On instinct, I separated my lips. Putting a swab inside my mouth, he rubs the inside of my cheek for twenty seconds to collect cells and puts the test into a sterile cylinder. Before continuing with Vincent, he squeezed my shoulder, a comforting and supportive gesture if you may.

“We carried out an image search.” Now that I can smoke, I light the cigarette and hold onto a craved drag. “Her name wasn’t Greer.”

Vincent didn’t decipher until Nate withdrew the swab from his mouth. “You seem troubled, Liam.”

“Warren.” His petulant need to ruffle me was becoming tiresome. “I am not a friend or an ally. Do not address me so informally Vincent.”

He desisted from laughing. “And I thought I was a self-righteous tyrant.”

“Stop wasting time and put everything in context,” I droned in a bored voice, giving Nate the signed form.

“Serena,” he sat a blunt on his lower lip and ignited a matchstick flame, “was a self-harming schizophrenic.”

“I am confused.” He’s challenging the gullibility of my uninitiated. “Quit fucking with my head, Vincent. Am I to guess Serena and Greer are the same people?”

“Two different women,” he confirmed, inhaling a long breath as if preparing for a tedious speech. “Serena is one of five siblings. Two younger sisters, one younger brother and one older brother. Well, half-siblings if I were to be technical. Before I touch upon her estranged family members, I will give you a summary of her life—present tense. Ignore whatever you read on the internet as she’s very much alive.

“Serena’s parents signed her into a mental hospital for copious failed suicide attempts. Unfortunately, health professionals mistreated and undermined her illness which compounded displays of dangerous and quite distressing episodes.

“Rather than showing signs of progression, Serena’s health regressed, and self-punishing was her only relief from dejection, pain and emotional turmoil.” Something indecipherable passed over his eyes. “Quite unsettling.”

I blew out a train of smoke. “Do you speak from experience or intrigue?”

Vincent glowered at me from beneath furrowed brows. “Intrigue, of course.”

Snapping off his gloves, Nate stuffs them inside his pocket, to discard later. “Sir?”

“Take everything to the Bentley,” I ordered, and he hoisted the holdall strap over his chest. “I’d like some privacy.”

Twirling the joint stem between his fingers, Vincent hunkered forward, elbows to his knees. “Serena found herself in a psychological conflict one afternoon after an upsetting visit from her mother, who, get this, enabled Serena’s self-sabotaging.”

My brows snapped together. “Serena’s mother supplied-on-demand?”

He nods. “She inconspicuously slipped a Stanley blade across the visitors’ table to expedite Serena’s suicide.”

I made a throaty noise.

“Serena went to her room that night and hacked chunks of flesh from her wrists. At that moment, death would free her from abominable wickedness. However, to her dismay, she survived the blood loss and achieved innumerable stitches instead.

“You must appreciate, I acquired this information from another. I have never met Serena or had any remote contact with her.”

The scent of marijuana smoke permeated the air. I craved the taste but would wait until later, not wanting to share anything with this man. “I assume you have a reliable, trustworthy source?”

He chuckles mirthlessly. “Not exactly.”

My heart thudded in apprehension. “Go on.”

“Serena, Molly and Greer all share something in common: their mother.”

Incongruously, my mind vacillated with equivocal notions. “Not their father?”

“No.” Clearing his throat, he righted the white gold cross hung from his earlobe. “Now, Serena, you and I also share something in common.”

Awakening dread befell on me. “This better not be going where I think it is.”

“Our father,” he says the unthinkable and acidic bile defined in the back of my mouth. “Raymond Warren is also Serena’s father.”

“You mean to tell me I obtained an unwanted half-brother and half-sister overnight?” The dysfunctional dynamics belatedly penetrated. “Which, if what you say holds credence, Molly and Greer are our step-sisters.”

“If you can even call them that,” he said nonchalantly, pulling on another drag.

“Twins,” I said affirmatively, reliving the night I walked into my father’s home and browsed his pathetic life story on the internet. “I remember now. Ray married Evelyn and helped raise her twin daughters. Although I only feel resentment for that man, back then, from a teenager’s perspective, I was envious of those girls. How could my so-called father leave me to rot with a junkie mother to live and raise another man’s children?” A copious amount of questions accumulated. “Ray left quite the legacy.”

Momentary understanding lengthened between us. “Fuck,” I growled, jumping to my feet and pacing. “Molly, she implied that we had slept together, that fucking bitch.”

I killed their mother.

Ruthless. Merciless. Unforgiving.

“It’s all starting to make sense.” Irritated, I scratched my four-day stubble. “They want revenge.”

Vincent mirrored my stance. “If it makes you feel any better, those girls played me, too, and I have nothing to do with their mother dearest decaying in a box.”

How do I know Vincent’s not an active participant in Molly and Greer’s conspiring?

“If Serena’s isn’t dead, where is she?” I abruptly whipped out the Desert Eagle and pointed at his face. “How do I know all this pitiful attention-seeking isn’t a fucking ploy?”

“What the fuck are you doing?” he spat angrily, pure rage saturating his blackening eyes. “How many times do you expect me to explain myself, Liam? I want to help you.”

“You were with them,” I rasped, finger slipping over the trigger. “You claim to have never met Serena, yet mapped out her depressive life from memory. Let’s not overlook the fucked-up sexual relationship you had with Greer, either. And Molly? You asked about her in the video, Vincent. Why, if you claim to be on my side, are you so closely aligned with the very women who conceivably want to fucking end me?”

“The twins targeted me,” he explained, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “I am not the enemy here, brother.”

“I trust no one,” I growled through gnarled teeth. “Are you still fucking them, Vincent?”

“I have never met nor spoken to Serena. In regard to Molly and Greer, yes, I had a sexual relationship with both women,” he syllabised with venom and bitterness. “Before you extradite me, allow me to explain and defend myself.”

Lowering his surrendering hands, he fixed the black onyx rosary beads attached his wrist. “I don’t live under a rock, Liam. London talks—the streets talk. I knew of Warren and his capabilities in young adolescence. However, I can promise you that I had no concept that you were my brother until meeting them. To be precise, it was Greer who informed me.”

I don’t particularly want this burden. “Undetermined while waiting for the results.”

“I feel it,” he said, rebuffing the idea of us not being related. “There is no denying that we are brothers. I am the head off your shoulders, and you know it.”

My sweaty palm clung to the Eagle.

Vincent’s right. He’s my ringer; however, I am not convinced his existence means anything to me. I have spent most of my short-lived life, walking this dark world alone. Sure, I met people that I love along the way, but my younger self spurned the idea of a family after experiencing abandonment.

“You may be conspiring with them.” No, I don’t need him. I prosper without my so-called family. “How do I know if I can trust you?”

“I can assure you that I’m not assisting them,” he said passionately, stepping closer, the barrel of the gun almost touching his forehead. “You hate all that I am, but those pained emotions are unreciprocated. Since discovering our descent, I have watched, admired and loved you at a respectable distance.” He boldly curled his hand around the gun, and I reluctantly allowed him to drop my guard. “It is easier for you to believe there’s an ulterior motive. Your stubbornness won’t let you see it any other way.”

Arm slackening at my side, I rolled my tense shoulders back and let his affirmation of devotion settle. “Why, if you care as much as you proclaim, did It take you so long to reach out?”

“I wasted an entire year, messaging, emailing, calling and posting mail. Your most trusted, Alzaim, declined and rejected anything I put forward, and, under your command, threatened me to stay away.”

Yet he stands here. “You failed to follow orders.”

“I do possess tendencies of rebelliousness,” he said, seemingly pleased with himself. “I became insistent when discovering your loose ends.”

I don’t have any loose ends. “Elaborate?”

“Alexa, she’s determined to draw unwanted attention to herself.” His haunted blue eyes rayed upon me. “You know, they will target her to hurt you, right?”

Alexa wasn’t in London. She’s in Cornwall, Newquay, with a man I hate with every fibre of my being. And she was safe. “I will skin, disembowel and tear them from limb to limb if they come within two feet of Alexa Haines.” Losing her again doesn’t even bear considering. “Proceed.”

“Molly set her claws in me first,” he picked up from where he left off. “When we met, it was a deliberate attempt on her behalf. She did everything right. Sat alone at one of my establishments, drinking despondently yet drawing a great deal of male attention with her curves and figure-hugging dress.

“I entered the building, clapped eyes with the woman and determined she’d be beneath me by the end of the night. Ten minutes of seducing later, I lured her to the office and fucked her right there, against the wall.”

Regret marred his incensed features. “I felt those sharp claws on my back days later. If you care to know how I emotionally felt, I will tell you that she was an outstanding fuck and gave incredible head. Nonetheless, I foolishly hold a torch for someone I can never have, so I seek only sexual pleasure from women. Nothing more. Nothing less. Molly was no different from any other female I entertained that week.

“She was a recurring woman in my life. We had a no-strings-attached agreement. I’d send her a text message with requirements, and she’d tamely meet those demands at the click of a finger. Realistically speaking, I should have recognised her obsequiousness was an act of mesmeric beguiling.

“I noticed odd changes,” he adds scornfully, rubbing the six o’clock shadow on his jaw. “One night, Molly visited me at work. When inside my office, she seductively disrobed and stood bare for me in a pale blue lingerie set.” He side-eyed me, long and hard. “Molly once told me she hated the colour blue.”

I connected the dots. “You perceived inconsistencies.”

“Yes, shortly, Molly’s compulsive lies and contradictive spirit kindled constant vigilance and analysing, specifically when discerning her disappearing and reappearing butterfly tattoo.”

I put my back to the wall and propped up a foot behind me. “Omitting the tattoo, aren’t there any other distinguishing qualities?”

“No, Molly and Greer are identical twins. Attractively tall, sleek-blonde, green eyes, trimmed waist yet curvaceous and amply privileged. And, whether it’s because they like to act and dress the same or not, I think they choreographed indistinguishable comparableness to delude me.”

“So, you were unknowingly victimised into fucking two sisters.” I watched him subtly. “How unfortunate for you?”

“Must you be undiplomatically candid?” he hissed out. “You act as though it were a pleasurable experience for me to continue sleeping with them, brother. Yes, in the beginning, I had fun with Molly or Greer, or whichever bitch rode my cock in that naïve instance, but you will never understand the hardship of fucking a woman while envisioning her neck decapitating in your hand.”

I beg to differ.

Has Vincent not encountered the real Alexa?

“I feigned obliviousness to their alternating deceit and played them at their own game to obtain information and knowledge of their true objectives. At first, the tattoo on Molly’s derrière was the only way of differentiating them. In time, though, I learnt of their noteworthy character traits for future reference. Molly’s overbearingness and high-sex drive prominently superseded Greer’s craving for soft, mundane sex and eagerness to placate me. Plus, Molly likes a fight—thrives off it—In contrast, her sister couldn’t think of anything worse than me, not contacting her for two days.

“I whispered lies in their ears and instilled distrust among sisters by proclaiming my love to the real Molly, but never said those words when with Greer, the back-up Molly.” His knuckles whitened with tension. “One night, when alone with Greer, we argued about my lack of affection. My plan worked. Molly taunted Greer in my absence by feeding her my lies.

“Greer cried for an hour, and that’s when I confronted her; the raw panic in her eyes was comical. Terrified she’d lose me, she spewed truths until the early hours and begged me not to tell Molly. Get this, Greer, the senile bitch was hoping for an exclusive relationship.”

It’s indisputably senseless. “What did she tell you?”

“I promised,” he mocked, “to leave the real Molly if Greer gave me answers.” Taking out a green apple from inside his suit jacket, he flipped open a sharp switchblade and peeled a waxy layer. “It was only then, brother, that I received awareness of our bloodline.”

Listening intently, I rotated my gold thumb ring.

“Tight-lipped, I laid with Greer in my arms while she educated me. You were right earlier. Molly wants revenge for the death of her mother. Greer agrees with her sister’s wild ambitions, but she’s disconnected, too. I don’t know what happened the night you killed Raymond. Curious about Father Warren, I read an old newspaper articles once: an unidentifiable person broke into their home, robbed them blind and then murdered them while they slept.”

“If the intruder was so impossible to identify, how did the twins know it was I who pulled the trigger that night?”

“Molly witnessed the entire ordeal from her bedroom.”

I frowned. “Why didn’t she tell the police?”

“You’d have to ask her that personally. Meanwhile,” he chimes, rubbing his palms together, “I got what I wanted from Greer and then ended the relationship. Molly persisted. Once more, I lied. I didn’t expose Greer because I knew she’d be resourceful or perhaps useful someday.

“Moving forward, I put all my time and energy into learning about you, brother.” Chewing apple peel, he licked juice from his lips. “I have to decide if you are worth it, though.”

“Why choose me?” I asked, genuinely curious. “They were an easier option.”

“One, I grew up as an only child; I’d have traded many a Christmas for a brother. Two, why would I help two deranged women, who withheld vital information from me, to kill London’s most feared criminal? Do I look that fearlessly audacious?” His apple crunched on a large bite. “I quite enjoy life. Thank you.”

No, Vincent’s decision to forewarn me wasn’t an act of pusillanimous sycophantic. His fearlessness was apparent.

“According to Greer, all they wanted from me was an alliance. Neither foreshadowed what a fucking catch I am, though. I was an unforeseen distraction in their revenge plan.” He smiled wolfishly, his watchful eyes surveying me. “Plus, I may be into some dark shit, but a polyamorous relationship with my step-sisters?” His brow curved. “Rather taboo, don’t you think?”

I fix pieces of a juxtaposing puzzle together. “Are they embittered by your dismissal, too, or am I the only one with a target on his back? And Serena? Where does she fit into all this?”

“Our step-sisters are wholeheartedly in love with me, so unfortunately for you, I get a free pass—unless they find out that I offered you my services, of course. When they realise what I have done, I am confident their resentment will land on my doorstep, too.

“Serena’s no longer a patient. Instilling confidence in Greer’s explanation, Serena’s with them, but it’s not public knowledge.” He offered me a joint, and I spurned it with a short head turn. “Suit yourself.”

“Is Serena working with them to conspire against me?” I asked, and he lifted a dismissive shoulder. “Where can I locate them?”

“I lost sight of the twins months ago.”

“Molly was here…” What if Greer impersonated Molly? “One of them was in London. Judging by your evaluation, It was feasibly Molly.”

“Greer’s never too far behind.” He hurled the apple stump to the ground. “I can help you track them down.”

Am I seriously entertaining two—perhaps three unhinged women?

“I don’t chase down dogs. If those bitches want a war, then they know where to find me. And Vincent?” I rasped haltingly, my blood starting to boil. “You invaded my privacy.” I fist his shirt collar, my knuckles ramming under his chin, and delivered a hard yet restrained open-palmed slap to his cheek.

He sucked in a wince, though, his cold blue eyes never once betrayed his unfeeling countenance.

“You want to earn my respect?” Shoving him aside with unnecessary force, I made a beeline for the exit. “Learn your fucking place.”