by KERRY BARNES
Then he saw Mike appear from the backroom. He mentally urged Mike to talk to Zara to make things right. Everyone knew he loved her, and she loved him. That wasn’t the issue. The problem was that they were both stubborn – and in that respect, they were very well suited to one another. But, although this was the case, like anyone with an alpha personality, one of them had to give a little to make the relationship work. He watched as Mike just stood there like a lost lamb and Zara had her head tilted as she stared at the floor. ‘Go on, Mike,’ he mumbled under his breath, ‘pull ya fucking finger out. Tell the woman how you feel.’ He had the urge to get out of the car and demand that they both listen to each other.
Lou felt his heart sink as soon as he spotted Eric. Now there was a fly in the ointment, if ever there was one, he thought. What a mess: two brothers, both loving one woman. ‘Oh, Eric, you idiot,’ he grumbled.
He hoped that this day would not end in a fight between the Regan brothers; there had been enough battles lately. He watched as Eric walked over to Zara and placed his hands on her shoulders.
She looked up, her face full of sorrow. He kissed her forehead, and he then turned to face Mike, holding his hands up. Lou knew what that meant: it was over.
Surprisingly, Mike grabbed his brother’s hand, pulled him close, and hugged him. ‘Yes, that’s it,’ said Lou, quietly. ‘Brotherly love. Fuck the past!’
Lou’s eyes followed Eric as he marched towards him. He’d never seen Eric cry, but tears were streaming down his face. He walked around to the front passenger door and stepped inside. Lou noticed how his whole being was different; Eric didn’t even hide the tears.
‘I can’t believe they both forgave me. What was I thinking, Lou, eh?’
‘You, me ol’ son, must have been so proud of your brother. You wanted to fit in his boots in every way, and I know you always liked Zara, but you need to know, mate, Mike was seeing her long before you said you liked her. She was his first. She always was and always will be . . . if he ever fucking gets his act together and makes a move . . . Christ, this is frustrating. Look at him, Eric. He’s like a wet weekend. Aw, I wanna kick him up the fucking arse.’
Eric sniffed back the tears and laughed. ‘Me mother always said, “Love will find a way.”’
Lou turned to Eric and frowned. ‘A bit philosophical, ain’t ya, mate?’
With emotion radiating from his face, Eric said, ‘Maybe it’s where I’ve been going wrong all these fucking years. Wanting what I can’t have. Trying to be someone I could never be. Anyway, another saying me mother has is “Honesty is the best policy.” So I told Zara the truth about that tart at the party, and how I sort of set Mike up. Let’s hope those two obstinate sods let go of their pride.’
Lou smiled, hearing that revelation. ‘Well, you did good. I’m proud of ya, mate. Er, where’s Staffie and Willie?’
‘Just finishing off. See, they’re over there.’
Lou looked over to find Staffie trudging towards the car; his face was drawn with tiredness.
‘What’s Willie doing now?’
Eric began to chuckle. ‘Willie is being Willie. He’s no social skills whatsoever, the daft bastard.’
‘He’s like a kid in a playground.’
Staffie looked over his shoulder and shook his head before he climbed into the back. ‘All right, Lou? Look at Willie. He thinks he’s fucking Cupid now. Jesus, someone needs to tell him he’s got a diver’s knife in his hand, not a fucking arrow.’
They all watched as Willie dragged Mike over to Zara. He put his arms around both Zara’s and Mike’s shoulders as if he was attempting to bash their heads together. Then he left them alone with a chuffed smile on his face.
‘Gawd help us!’ said Staffie.
Willie ran to the car and jumped in the back to face three pairs of eyes glaring at him. ‘What? Well, someone needed to bash their fucking heads together. There ain’t no point in pussyfooting around, is there?’
They all laughed as Lou pulled away. ‘Let’s give them their privacy.’
***
‘You showed them, babe,’ said Mike.
Zara looked into his eyes. She saw the real Mike, the man who held her heart in his hand. ‘It’s not over, Mike.’
‘No, I know, babe, I know.’ He took a deep breath. ‘I got so much wrong, didn’t I?’
Zara shrugged. ‘Maybe, maybe not. Who knows?’
He moved closer and took her hand, cupping it gently. ‘Your father knew, though. He said I would work for you. But not in my wildest dreams, did I ever believe I would answer to you. It was for no other reason than I wanted to be the one you looked up to, that you felt protected by. I wanted to be the man that would wrap you in my arms to keep you safe.’
She looked up through her thick eyelashes and longed for his arms to hold her close and protect her. Because at that moment, she knew that as much as she had a tough exterior, she had a fragile heart. But she was safe now – safe in the knowledge that she would be loved unconditionally and secure in the fact that he was her man. It was inconceivable that he could ever destroy her by breaking her heart. He was the one man who had the potential to crush her. He never would though.
‘I’m so sorry, Zara . . . ’
‘Shush.’ She smiled. ‘Let’s just take this one step at a time.’
‘No, we won’t. There are only a few steps we’ll take and those will be up that fucking aisle. Now then, woman, you’re coming home with me to our house, and that’s the end of the subject.’
Her face suddenly shone with laughter. ‘So you think you’re the boss, huh?’
‘Sometimes, babe, I’ll dish the orders out, starting with now. Kiss me!’
Just as she was about to lean into him, his phone rang. She pulled away.
Mike looked down at the number. ‘It’s Ricky.’
She nodded. ‘Well, answer it, then.’
‘Hey, Son, is everything okay?’
‘Dad, they said I can come home tomorrow, around lunchtime. Can you pick me up?’
‘Yes, my boy. We’ll be there, don’t you worry.’
‘We?’
‘Yes, Son. Zara and me.’
‘Dad, don’t fuck up this time. She’s . . . ’
‘I know, Son, I won’t, not ever again. I’m gonna hang on tight to my family. See you soon.’
He turned to Zara. ‘Now, where’s my kiss?’
Acknowledgements
I would like to thank my editor Robert Wood for his hard work and dedication. His generous input and advice has been invaluable.
Deryl Easton and the members of the Notrights book club who have given me so much support.
Annie Aldington, the voice behind the audio who has done a fantastic job.
Lee, my hubby, for all his patience.
Turn the page for an extract from Kerry Barnes’ thrilling novel The Hunted. . .
PROLOGUE
South London, 1968
A lamp cast its soft glow onto a round table positioned in the middle of the room. The closed, heavy red drapes gave the room a daunting – almost eerie – feel, as if the assembled group was about to engage in a séance.
Dread twisted around Ronnie’s stomach. For a moment, he didn’t want to speak, so afraid his words would come out as just a mere squeak, and that he would look less than a worthy man. The eyes that glared back at him were narrow and beady, silently interrogating him, or perhaps posed to intimidate. Either way, he was now in the lion’s den, entirely at their mercy.
Was his fiancée really worth it? Her beautiful face and long shapely legs popped into his head – yes, she definitely was. So, he had either to prove his worth or be fucked off by her brother and his close allies. Until now, he hadn’t quite grasped the power of these collective Jewish men. Sensing the intense atmosphere that pervaded the room, he knew they were more than just unassuming businessmen.
He presumed this first meeting would be a case of proving himself. After all, he was going to marry their queen, their worshipped si
ster. Now, he surmised that this meeting wasn’t all about giving him the rundown on how to treat his wife-to-be. It was more than that – something much more profound, almost cultlike.
The way in which they sat side by side with their hands clasped on the table symbolizing an unspoken bond between them, did it mean more than honour among family? After all, the two men who were scrutinizing him weren’t brothers by blood, they were brothers in a different sense. He suspected that they were united by a pledge.
Ronnie could feel that they were going to initiate him into something – whatever it was he would soon find out.
The silence, which was perhaps a mere few seconds, seemed to linger. They were sussing him out, trying to read his thoughts.
He almost jumped when the taller of the two men, his future brother-in-law, spoke. ‘I understand you are a man who wants to earn money . . . ’ He paused and glared, waiting for affirmation by a nod or a yes.
Ronnie twisted his head slightly, questioning their statement.
‘We have a common enemy,’ the speaker continued.
Ronnie raised his brow and waited, hoping he would get to the point.
‘Arthur Regan!’ He hissed the name through gritted teeth.
Ronnie’s eyes widened. Yes, it was true: he and his brother Frank hated the Regan crew; in fact, they loathed them with a passion.
Arthur Regan was only nineteen and had already taken charge of all the knocked-off gear that entered Bermondsey. His little empire was strong-handed and growing fast. They may be just out of nappies, but they were taking over the manor and earning good money.
The business that had once been run by the Harman family had now been taken from under his nose just because the Regans had more muscle, and, worse, more front. The dealers, the robbers, and the pretty women were all being drawn in by Arthur’s success.
So what was he left with? Fuck all, that’s what.
He nodded and remained silent.
‘You are aware, I trust, that when you marry my sister, you and your brother become an integral part of our family? With that comes accountability!’
Ronnie frowned. ‘Of course, but what’s that got to do with Arthur Regan?’ With the menacing expression staring back at him, he wondered if he should have been a little less direct.
Ronnie watched in fascination as both men looked at each other and silently rolled up their sleeves to show a mark on their right wrist.
Still oblivious, Ronnie shrugged. Again, he wondered if his body language was really doing him any favours. ‘Sorry. Am I missing something?’
‘You have a reason to take out the Regans’ firm. Although it may be very different from ours, it amounts to the same thing. We want Arthur Regan and his men hunted down for the scum they are. His home, his business, his family, and his fucking name will be ripped away, piece by fucking piece. That bastard and his followers shouldn’t be walking the streets, making money, or even breathing the same air as us. So, if you want to marry my sister and enter our family, you must agree to be on our side, no matter what it takes to ensure their pathetic lives and those of their children are tortured and tormented until they are living like worms under a rock!’
A million thoughts tumbled over themselves as Ronnie tried to digest what the Jew was saying. Then, once again, his words were direct. ‘What have they done to you?’
‘Those cunts killed my brother, my beloved sister’s twin.’ The tall Jewish man looked to his left at the man seated beside him. ‘And they killed his brother too.’
Ronnie glanced at the shorter man. A sudden shiver ran through his body, and for a second, he thought he was staring at the Devil himself. Portrayed in those dark, expressionless eyes and lopsided grin was a cruel streak.
Leaning back in his chair, Ronnie grinned. This was it. He didn’t have to consider pledging himself to this pact, cult, or whatever the fuck it was. He was in. The Jews had money and a tight, nasty firm, and he had the prize bride. He had a gripe with the Regans, and so what better way to take over the manor than to do so with the help of a bunch of wealthy psycho Jews? Even better, he would take back what he believed was rightfully his.
He gazed down once more at the strange marks on their wrists and was startled by a rustling sound from across the room. He could just make out a brooding figure in the shadows. Something in his hand gleamed from the soft light of the lamp. In a sudden rush of panic, Ronnie’s forehead formed beads of sweat and his mouth became as dry as a horse’s salt lick. As the daunting man approached the table, the side lamp shone a light on the tool he had in his hand. Ronnie’s heart rate levelled as soon as he realized it was only a tattoo gun.
CHAPTER ONE
Kent, 2002
The summer evening was drawing to a close. Mike could just soak up the last of the pink shimmer in the sky before he would have to face the cold, hard-faced bitch he called his wife. As he stepped out of his Porsche and felt his feet crunch under the newly laid gravel drive, he sucked in the warm air and braced himself.
Sacha, the housekeeper, opened the door before he had a chance to put the key in the lock. Her sweet round face was loaded with anxiety. It made Mike bite down on his lip and flare his nostrils. ‘Go on, love, tell me. What the fuck has she been up to now?’
Sacha lowered her gaze and shook her head. ‘Sorry, Mr Regan, but I just can’t do it anymore. I am handing in my notice . . . I can’t, I just can’t.’ Her voice cracked, as she tried to hold back the tears. Mike held out his big meaty arms for his housekeeper to fall into. He’d known she wouldn’t stay in the job for much longer. Sacha was too sweet and inoffensive. Dealing with Jackie was just too much for her.
He held her tight and stroked her long black hair. ‘Come on, love. Don’t get yaself upset. It’s okay. I understand.’
She gently pulled away. ‘I’m so worried about little Ricky, he is so . . . well, affected. Yes, maybe that’s the word. I will come back tomorrow, Mr Regan, to take him to school, but after that, I have to leave. She’s too . . . ’ Sacha looked into Mike’s compassionate grey eyes and gave a smile loaded with sorrow. ‘She’s just hard work.’
Mike heard the cab driving up towards the house. He nodded and winked for her to go. He would deal with the aftermath.
As Sacha bustled herself into the taxi, she looked back to see Mike disappear inside the house of misery. Gutted she had to leave, she knew, nevertheless, that Jackie was becoming utterly out of control. The last straw was when she took a slap from her, for ushering little Ricky away before Jackie could say another cruel thing to him. Sacha would have loved to have swapped places with Jackie. Mike was perfect in her eyes, a Gerard Butler lookalike, rich and generous too. However, he was also faithful to his wife.
Mike stepped inside, gently closing the door, hoping that Jackie was crashed out somewhere. The house was quiet, so he crept up the curved staircase and walked along the corridor and into Ricky’s room. He gulped back the lump that had lodged in his throat. There, asleep, still hugging a pillow, was his little six-year-old son. The curtains were drawn, and his night light was just bright enough to show that his face was still moist from crying. There, among the child’s dreams, he witnessed another sob. Mike’s heart ached for his son – his sweet little chubby boy, with the biggest eyes, button nose, and wayward floppy fringe. He wanted to pull him into his arms and hug him tight, but he didn’t want to wake him. Quietly, he closed the door and walked back down the stairs and into the lounge. His shoulders relaxed when he realized he was alone. Loosening his tie, he went to the bar and poured a brandy, slowly allowing the bitter bite to warm the back of his throat. He held the bottle in his hand and rolled his eyes. Thank God she didn’t like brandy, or his vintage collection would be consumed by now. Jackie was content with a litre of vodka each day and didn’t care if it was called Grey Goose or Mother Goose, as long as it got her pissed.
Mike took his weighty crystal tumbler, with a double shot of brandy, out through the French doors and onto the patio, where the garden lights
automatically came on and flooded the pool area.
With Sacha handing in her notice, and the concerning call he’d received earlier regarding his arms import, he really needed to think about what to do, now that both work and home were a mess. He shuddered and gulped back the drink. If it was true, and his deal had been intercepted by the government agents, he was looking at going down for a long time. Christ, what would happen to Ricky? He had to keep his head straight. First thing tomorrow, he would call a meeting at which only his trusted men would be present. He stared as far as his eyes could see and surveyed the walled perimeter. For a second, he thought he saw something glimmer, and his heart stopped beating. I am getting fucking paranoid now. He had to get some sleep; the last few days had been intense, and he needed a clear head for the morning.
As he went back into the house and upstairs, the inebriated snoring from their bedroom made him pass by silently, hoping his wife wouldn’t wake up. The last room on the left, the blue room, was cool and inviting. He removed his clothes and slid between the sheets, allowing the fresh cotton to engulf him. Just as he was about to drift off, a loud bang woke him and rattled his nerves. There she was in the doorway.
‘Where have you been, ya fucking wanker!’ spat Jackie, full of piss and vinegar.
Mike sat up and rolled his eyes; she was off on one again. For a second, he stared and wondered why the fuck he was still with her. Half-dressed in a designer blouse and just her knickers, she looked like a streetwalker. Her hair was a mess with knotted extensions and her oversized, collagen-filled lips were twisted in an ugly fashion to match her tight, beady eyes. Botox, boob jobs, and a fake tan had done her no favours. She was only twenty-six and could have passed for eighteen a couple of years ago. Why she’d had to have all that shit done was beyond him. He didn’t recognize her anymore, but that wasn’t the issue. It was her wild personality that had truly changed beyond recognition.
