The Rules

by KERRY BARNES

  Mike decided on another line of questioning. ‘What the fuck do you know about my son’s attack?’

  Woodrow’s reaction was one of confusion. ‘Nothing. Why would I? I don’t even know who your son is!’

  Mike continued to stare, and at that moment, he definitely believed the man was kosher, but out of the corner of his eye he also clocked the sly, nervous expression on Dez’s face. It wasn’t a look of pain from his broken kneecaps, it was the coarse edge of fear mixed with guilt.

  Woodrow watched in surprise as Mike’s huge bulk moved faster than Tyson Fury.

  In one fluid motion, Mike ripped the tape from Dez’s mouth and clenched the spanner tight, threatening to use it if Dez so much as said the wrong word. ‘You knew my son because you, ya creepy little shit, wanted to fuck him. You held a blade to his jugular, so you knew I had a son. Now, you’re gonna tell me who’s responsible and why my boy took a fucking pasting with a sack over his head!’ Your days are numbered anyway, he thought.

  ‘It wasn’t nothing to do with me!’ he yelled.

  ‘Liar!’ screamed Mike, as the spanner came smashing down onto Dez’s right wrist.

  Dez reeled in pain before he let out a blood-curdling scream, and his head lolled forward. The intense pain almost made him pass out.

  Randy was now sweating buckets and praying he wasn’t next. He was aware of who the big man was; Dez had told him all about Mike Regan. Yet, for the moment, he felt safe. Regan was intent on getting answers from Dez and had no firm reason to beat the life out of himself; it was clear Regan hated his brother anyway.

  ‘Who battered my boy?’ he bellowed, as he swung the spanner intimidatingly. But instead of hitting Dez, yet again, he hit Randy on his right kneecap, and then, in a sick turn of events, he removed the tape from Randy’s mouth, allowing him to issue a blood-curdling scream too, but it was even louder than his brother’s. ‘You two are close. Now, who hurt my son?’

  Staffie and Willie were stunned: they hadn’t expected that. Willie was high on cocaine and laughed in his usual high-pitched girl’s giggle, but Staffie stared, wondering if what he was witnessing was too personal and Mike was losing the plot. He knew though that it would be pointless to intervene when Mike was in a mood like this one. For the first time in his life, Staffie questioned his own motivation for doing work of this nature. It was okay when they’d been younger, but he wondered if he even had the stomach for this kind of torture anymore.

  As Mike raised the tool again, Randy yelled, ‘Wait, please! Let me talk!’ He cried in pain and tried to get his words together, but it was the look on Dez’s face that said it all. Mike suddenly stopped and lowered the spanner. He stepped back and breathed in, allowing his chest to inflate and his chin to rise.

  Randy was gasping for breath, the pain in his thigh turning from an acute ache to a burning sensation.

  ‘Please, wait!’ He tried to catch his breath, but Mike’s eyes were now fixed on Dez, who abruptly shied away.

  It was the moment he’d been waiting for, and, if he was honest with himself, he’d anticipated this. No one could endure this kind of treatment for long. Mike knew then that Dez and Randy had something to do with his son’s attack. Which meant that they must have been involved in the death of the girl who was with Ricky. He had to think very carefully how to play this one. He knew how sly Dez was, but he knew nothing about Randy, except for the fact that the man claimed to be innocent. He hoped this was the case. In one respect, Randy appeared to be similar to his brother Woodrow – more aware of the consequences.

  ‘So, Randy. This is how it’s gonna work.’ Mike remembered the name of Dez’s sister, because, years ago, he’d overheard a row between Dez and another inmate concerning his beloved sister Alice. ‘Me mate Willie is gonna go and get Alice . . . ’

  Immediately, Woodrow spoke up. ‘No, wait, she has nothing to do with this. Please, leave her out of it.’

  ‘I want to, but I also want assurances that Randy will tell me the truth because Dez certainly won’t, will ya, you bastard?’

  Sweat was now running down Randy’s face. ‘I swear, I’ll tell you everything. Just leave her alone. She’s a good girl.’ His head fell back, clearly struggling to keep conscious.

  Mike grinned cruelly. He could see Randy was consumed by agony. ‘Right, then. Why was my son attacked and who did it?’

  ‘It was the Governor or his men, but I honestly dunno who exactly.’

  Mike nodded. ‘And why?’

  Randy flicked a look in Dez’s direction, and Mike knew then that it was all Dez’s doing. It had all the hallmarks of an underhanded weasel written all over it. ‘I’m waiting, Randy,’ he said, as he stared at Dez.

  ‘A bloke called Leon Khouri, who worked from the cottage, asked us if we knew anyone on the manor who would be dealing drugs . . . and . . . ’ He nervously swallowed. ‘Dez said your son was.’

  Mike felt the hairs on his neck stand on end, the anger curling inside his stomach. ‘And you, Randy? Did you know who I was?’

  Randy shook his head, sweat glistening on his forehead. He thought he would pass out at any minute. ‘No, I didn’t, I swear.’ He gave another sceptical look at his brother. ‘I didn’t even know that passing that information on would end up with your son getting attacked.’

  ‘And the girl they murdered? Do you know anything about her?’

  His face formed a frown that was etched in pain. He shook his head. ‘Jesus, why, Dez, did you get me involved in this fucking shit? It’s fucking yours, man! It’s got nothing to do with me at all.’ He looked back at Mike. ‘That’s the first mention of any girl being involved, I assure you. So a girl got killed as well?’

  Mike nodded. ‘Yeah, she was raped, and I mean brutally raped. Not only that but she had that Flakka drug shoved down her throat.’

  ‘You bastard, Dez!’ hollered Randy. He looked across at Woodrow. ‘And you never knew?’

  Woodrow shook his head in sorrow and looked down again in shame. ‘I never knew, but I’m not surprised. The Governor doesn’t care if you’re black, white, young, or even a bird. If you get in his way, he’ll kill you, no question.’

  Mike was now boiling. ‘And you all know that?’

  Woodrow looked up at Mike, wondering what planet the man was on. ‘Of course. Everyone does.’

  The only sound in the room was the heavy, nervous breathing as the three brothers awaited their fate.

  ‘Well, I wanna meet this animal, and you’re gonna inform him of the fact.’

  Woodrow’s eyes widened. ‘Jesus, if you ask me to do that, you’ll be signing my own death warrant.’

  Mike shook his head and tightened his jaw. ‘I don’t give a fuck, and if you value the lives of your brothers and sister, you’ll do exactly as I tell you. I want the man toe to fucking toe with me.’

  ‘But I don’t know how to contact him. How am I gonna get a message to him?’

  Mike suddenly threw the spanner across the room, making everyone jump and Willie giggle again.

  ‘I don’t give a fuck how you do it. If you want your family to stay alive and well, you’ll fucking do it! Otherwise, they’ll have hessian sacks tied over their heads, and they’ll be strung up from the nearest tree.’

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Although Brooke felt a cold chill entering the room from the open window, the paradox was that this didn’t apply to her own inner state of well-being, following the assault on her. Her mind was now determined – no longer was she continually reflecting on the past. Perhaps it was because she was away from her home – her mother and even her father. She also wondered if, somehow, it had something to do with Lance.

  It was strange because even though the relationship was somewhat tenuous, she felt so very much at home in what essentially to her was a stranger’s house. She channel-surfed the wall-mounted widescreen TV and settled back into the soft leather sofa with her feet on the pouffe, ready to watch a romcom.

  Heavy footsteps descended the stairs, and she cou
ld feel Lance’s presence before he was even in the room.

  ‘Brooke, I’m going out shortly, once I’ve made a phone call. I’ll return later with some food. Don’t go nosing around, ’cos nothing in this house is any of your business. You can watch the TV, listen to the radio, use the bathroom, and make a drink, but, other than that, you’re not to move,’ said Lance.

  Brooke so wanted to laugh. His deep, scary voice, and his bossy tone, along with his scowling face, actually made her feel safe and secure. In fact, she wasn’t in the least intimidated by him. She could now understand why Kendall had wanted to live with him and why it must have been a real pain in the arse for her to be living at home with their mother.

  ‘Yes, sure, and, look, thank you, Lance. I mean, I’m so grateful. Really, I am.’

  ‘Um, yeah, well, I lost ya sister. I ain’t bleedin’ losing you an’ all. I’m gonna go and phone your mother.’

  Brooke smiled at his miserable face, or was it just an unhappy one, she wondered? Perhaps he was just a man who’d been worn down by what life had thrown at him.

  Lance stared for a while at the girl’s attractive blue eyes and her innocent smile. It sickened him to think of what had happened to her; she was such a sweet little thing, a waiflike china doll. Different from Kendall, perhaps, but her eyes were so familiar.

  Straightaway, he chose to respond in kind. ‘Chinese takeaway then, is it?’

  The upbeat tone in his voice gave Brooke the impression that she’d cracked the moody nut. ‘Yes please,’ she replied.

  With the TV rattling off in the background, and Lance in the kitchen, Brooke was alone with just her thoughts. What a coincidence that Lance had happened to drive along the street at the same time she believed she was running for her life. She remembered the headlights and the car coming to a halt and then the massive man in front of her preventing her from running. Her initial thought was fear – this giant gripping her wrists, with her father on her heels. She didn’t know at the time who she was more scared of – her heart had been running like crazy. That was until the giant spoke.

  ‘Hey, calm down. Stop struggling. I’m not trying to harm you. Are you okay? Do you need the police?’

  Those words – ‘the police’ – made her stop struggling and look up into those dark eyes. When she did, the street lamp cast a light on his face, and then she realized who he was. From that moment on, she remembered, she calmed down. She knew she was safe. Safe from Alastair, who she was now very unsure of. She respected Poppy’s gut instinct. Although, in the past, she and her sister had had very little to do with each other, leading very separate lives, when all was said and done, they were still twins – maybe not identical twins, for sure, but still alike in many ways.

  She had the greatest respect for Poppy’s intellectual mind and even more so for her common sense. Something was up, so thank God she wasn’t back in that bloody house! But she wished she knew where her sister was. Losing one sister was bad enough – losing two would feel like the end of her world.

  And Kendall’s photos of her father on her bedside table were the reason she’d not been terrified of him; he was so distinguishable that she’d recalled his face. Instantly, she’d said, ‘Lance?’

  He’d nodded, and then he’d squinted in the headlights, as he peered down at her face. ‘Poppy, is it . . . or . . . ?’

  ‘Brooke,’ she’d replied. ‘I’m so glad you’ve found me. Please help me. Please!’

  She remembered he’d bundled her into the back of his car and driven away. They’d passed her father, who was still running down the street. He hadn’t seen her get into the vehicle or even noticed as they’d driven past him.

  So as much as Lance wore a scowl and was sharp with his words, he was also her saviour. In some ways, he was a bit of a pussy, although she wouldn’t dare to say that to his face!

  Poppy was right to be worried about their father. He frightened her; it was that look on his face – that sudden demonic expression – that scared her, as it obviously did her sister. Her heart skipped a beat and started a string of palpitations. Please be okay, Poppy. Please be okay.

  Lance returned to the lounge, wearing a lighter jacket and with a bunch of keys in his hand. ‘I’m gonna see if Poppy’s at your mother’s.’

  ‘Lance, my dad has secrets. That’s why we were running away. Poppy said something about hessian material in the log cabin and—’

  Lance suddenly stiffened. ‘What?’

  Brooke could see the concern on his face. Perhaps Poppy was onto something back in the log cabin.

  ‘Yes, he uses the cabin as an office but something about the whole set-up had Poppy worried.’

  ‘Listen, stay put. I’ll find your sister, I promise.’

  Brooke didn’t have a chance even to answer before he left.

  ***

  An hour later, Lance arrived outside Rebecca’s house – half his by rights, of course. He paused before getting out of the car. Looking up at the windows, he wondered if anyone was actually in. There were no vehicles in the drive, so he assumed no one was at home unless of course a car was parked in the garage. But who parks their motor inside a garage these days? he thought.

  After he stepped out, he slammed the door shut and marched to the front door. He rapped the brass knocker hard and waited briefly before, impatiently, he knocked again.

  The door was eventually pulled open by a very distraught-looking Rebecca. Lance looked her up and down and had to blink; the woman was a complete and utter mess. Her hair was dishevelled, the bags under her eyes had aged her by ten years, and her breath reeked of stale wine. Hastily, Lance stepped back. ‘Something on your mind?’ he sniped viciously.

  Her sore eyes narrowed. ‘No . . . er . . . what are you doing here?’

  He didn’t answer but stepped forward. The sheer size of him automatically made her retreat slightly.

  Without being invited in, he walked ahead straight into the kitchen, with Rebecca following.

  ‘Lance, what are you doing here?’ she repeated.

  ‘Where’s Alastair?’ His voice demanded an answer.

  ‘I don’t know. He’s probably at work. Why? What’s it to you?’

  Lance just stood there, staring at her unblinkingly and impassively. A chill began its way up her spine. She couldn’t explain why, though. She averted her eyes and he peered out at the back garden.

  ‘Look, what’s going on here, Lance? You can’t just push your way into my home like this.’

  He spun around and towered over her. ‘Lady, I can do whatever the fuck I like. This is still half my house, as I’ve told you time and time again.’

  Her jaw clenched tight, and she laced her words with venom. ‘That may be so, but it’s not your home. It’s mine, so get out, Lance!’

  Lance leaned against the worktop and folded his arms across his broad chest. Once again, he gave her that stare and followed it up with a mocking grin.

  His whole mien was winding her up. He was the last person she needed to see right now; she had enough bloody problems of her own. What with Alastair, Brooke, and Poppy all missing – she was going out of her mind with worry.

  ‘Where’s Poppy?’ The question was spat out, like an Exocet missile.

  The frustration and stress on her face were both replaced with confusion and fear. ‘I . . . I . . . don’t know.’

  ‘And Brooke?’

  She felt her stomach churning. Did he know something she didn’t? ‘I don’t know about her either. Why? What’s going on?’

  ‘Rebecca, you need to tell me where Alastair is. Like right now!’ he bellowed.

  Rebecca nearly jumped out of her skin with shock. When her ex-husband – her ex-military husband – wanted to be, he was one scary man, and so she shouldn’t have been surprised by his actions. But she wasn’t in a good place herself. She wondered if he ever switched off. Was he still living in the past?

  ‘Don’t shout like that. You know how it scares me.’

  ‘Well, then, tel
l me. Where is he?’

  Rebecca let out a jaded sigh, and her shoulders slumped in resignation.

  ‘Look . . . really . . . I honestly don’t know where any of them are. I came home, and they were gone. There are two suitcases partially packed upstairs, so I think they may have left me . . . ’ She peered at his cold expression. ‘He never really wanted to be with me anyway, you know.’

  Lance watched a level of serenity wash over her face. She appeared resigned, almost helpless, and it showed in her eyes. She was a lost child. For a split second, he wanted to laugh. Rebecca Mullins, the MP – with the perfect life, her nose high in the air, who could give lessons on how to patronize people – now reduced to an ugly mess. Then he remembered how easily she could manipulate people, her ability to go from powerful and measured, to giving off this pretence that she was just a sweet girl. It had worked on him many a time. But that was in the past. He’d learned from his mistakes with her. She couldn’t bullshit him anymore.

  ‘So, let’s get this right. You came home, and they were gone. That’s how it was. Is that correct?’

  Rebecca wasn’t listening; she was staring off at nothing, wishing her life had turned out differently. Why had she done it? Why had she fallen for Alastair and played away from home every time Lance was on tour? Well, it wouldn’t take a psychiatrist charging her two hundred and fifty pounds an hour to tell her the answer to that question! She’d been lonely – very lonely. She was hungry for affection and Lance was fucking three thousand, five hundred, and thirty-one miles away in Afghanistan. And it wasn’t as if her present husband wasn’t a good catch: Alastair was probably the biggest dish of them all. The tall, broad, handsome man with eyes that would have her knickers off in two seconds flat. He’d been what she needed – at the time.

  ‘Tell me this, Rebecca. Where does Alastair work?’

  The impromptu question dragged Rebecca completely out of her thoughts. ‘Er . . . what?’

  He smirked at that response. He knew it. She didn’t have a clue. He thought he would push her buttons a little more. ‘Do you even know what he does?’