Sitting up, traumatised, he stared in horror at the two men in front of him – his confusion quickly turning to anger. ‘I paid.’ Pointing his finger at Ramiz the man was shaking violently. ‘This animal told me that it wasn’t enough. That I need to pay more. When I wouldn’t pay, he attacked me.’
Kush looked at Ramiz now to see if what he was hearing was true.
‘You’re not charging enough.’
Ramiz’s lip curled up in distaste as the man shook. He was petrified of him and so he should be. Kush should be too. Things were about to change around here. It was about time that someone upped the stakes. There was money to be made, real money, and from what Ramiz had seen Kush didn’t have the balls or the brains to get the maximum potential from the place.
‘I put the prices up.’
Kush felt his heart sink in his chest now as Ramiz’s grimace turned into a sneer.
Ramiz was challenging him. This was his way of showing Kush that he was muscling in on his little enterprise, convinced that no one would dare stop him. That he could do as he pleased.
Kush closed his eyes in dismay. Not only was Ramiz armed, he was also unpredictable, desperate. The combination made Ramiz an extremely dangerous man. He’d been a nightmare the past few days. Constantly paralytic, he was drinking the bar dry, abusing Kush’s customers, mistreating the girls. Kush had been trying in his own way to pacify the man, but he knew that he had only been stalling for time. Ramiz had been asking too many questions about the business, about the girls. He wanted to know how much money Kush was making.
Kush had told him as little as he possibly could, while every day praying that Lena would return. Then he could tell them that they had to move on, that they couldn’t stay here.
It had been wishful thinking though. Clearly Ramiz had no intentions of leaving now, and he wanted in on Kush’s business. Deep down Kush knew that there was nothing he could do to stop the man.
Ramiz had all the power, and he knew it.
‘Our prices have gone up.’ Defeated, Kush couldn’t look his customer in the eye. ‘You need to pay up.’
Incredulous, the man shook his head. This wasn’t the deal.
‘What kind of a fucking place are you running here? We had an arrangement. You can’t just change the price to suit yourselves—’
The man had barely got his sentence out when the pool cue struck him. There was the sickening crunch of wood cracking against the man’s skull and a thud as he fell back onto the table. Unconscious. Ramiz had whacked him so hard that Kush was surprised he hadn’t taken his head clean off. Blood was pouring from the side of his face.
But that wasn’t enough for Ramiz.
‘This is what happens to people who don’t pay. This is what happens when you fuck with us.’
Taking the cue, he pummelled the man repeatedly with it. Battering him. Stabbing the end of the stick into his flesh, puncturing his body, his face, until there was nothing left but a bloody red pulp.
Kush couldn’t move. He just stood and stared. Tasting the bitterness of the bile in his throat as he swallowed it down. There was blood everywhere. Ramiz was covered too: his clothes, hands, face. It was like something out of a horror film.
Terror enveloped Kush’s entire being as he realised just what he was dealing with here.
Ramiz stopped then. As if something inside him had suddenly clicked. As if he’d just come out of a trance. His vicious outburst was over. Seeing the look of terror on Kush’s face, the battered bloodied man beneath him, Ramiz laughed, maniacally, the crass sound filling the air. Reaching into the inside pocket of the man’s blood-soaked suit pocket, Ramiz took out the man’s wallet. Fingering the notes inside, he shot a look to Kush.
‘He should have done as he was told.’
The message was loud and clear.
This was Kush’s warning too.
Staggering over to the bar, Ramiz poured himself out another brandy, downing it in one go.
Kush saw Korab then; until that moment, he hadn’t even realised that the man was in the room. He was sitting in the corner, in one of the booths, silently terrified of the monster they were dealing with, just as Kush was.
Ramiz clocked him too.
‘Don’t just fucking sit there,’ he slurred, his eyes blurring out of focus; he was so drunk he could barely see, barely stand. ‘Get this shit cleaned up. It’s bad for business.’
Petrified, Korab did as he was told.
Walking over to where his cousin stood, Korab shook his head in wonderment, heart sorry for what he’d brought to Kush’s door.
The two men said nothing. They just exchanged the same knowing look, as Ramiz stood at the bar and poured himself out yet another drink.
The man was out of control. The more he drank, the more volatile he became.
Ramiz had shown them what he was capable of; he wouldn’t hesitate in inflicting the same reprisal on anyone who stood in his way.
No one would be spared. Not even Korab and Kush.
36
Crouched down on all fours inside the pitch-black cavity Colin could feel his excitement building. This was his favourite part. He was almost finished, almost at the best bit. Relishing the fleeting moment of anticipation.
It had taken two hours, but it had felt much longer than that.
Hammering the chisel with force the strong steady blow fractured the wood and it split. It was only a sliver of a crack, a thin jagged slice, but it was all he needed for the saw to slot down inside it. In his element now he hacked at it tirelessly, dragging the hacksaw back and forth as he scoured a deep gouge into the timber.
Backwards, forwards, backwards, forwards. His shoulders throbbed; the dull, gnawing pain quickly erupting into an excruciating, burning ache, but still he persevered, picking up his speed, adrenaline surging through his body.
He was almost there. The sweat was pouring off of him now; his hair stuck to his forehead, beads of perspiration trickling down the sides of his face. Putting all his strength into each stroke he relished the fierce scraping sound as the serrated blade finally broke through the oak veneer.
He’d done it.
The saw’s thin jagged teeth were now firmly embedded in wood beneath it. He was pleased to feel that it was chipboard. Solid oak would have only impeded his task, and it had already taken him far too long as it was.
Colin thought of the mound of mud that he’d stacked so carefully up on the tarpaulin above him. He’d dug it all out by hand. The soil had been slack, still unsettled from today’s earlier backfill; nonetheless, the task had still been a gruelling one.
He was pleased with his speed tonight. He’d broken a new record, beat his best time. Spurred on by his anger at his mother, no doubt. He’d envisaged her face with each vicious stab his spade made to the soil. Spearing the ground over and over again he’d destroyed the earth until there was nothing left.
He felt focused, motivated. Excited.
Severing the last bit of wood now with his saw the panel became loose, dropping down into the casket with the final cut.
Reaching down, Colin picked up the chunk of wood. Discarding it, he threw it to the other end of the grave. Then, he reached his hands back down inside the coffin, his fingers brushing against the fabric inside.
He’d done it. Alone in the darkness, in the dead of the night, he had found the treasure that he had been looking for.
He smiled then, a rare genuine moment of happiness engulfing his entire being.
His mother underestimated him, as everybody else did. Still, that suited him just fine. Their misjudgement only worked in his favour in the long run. If no one knew his secrets, then no one could ever take them from him, and that was just the way Colin Jeffries liked it.
37
Circling her hips in time to the rhythm Saskia plastered a smile onto her face as she finished her final dance of the night. She was late. Still, she wasn’t getting away with finishing even a second early, not with this tightwad as her last customer.
/>
The man sitting in the booth in front of her had spent more time glancing down at his watch, making sure that he’d got his full four minutes’ worth, than he had spent looking at her.
Hearing the music to her final set coming to an end, Saskia happily gave the man one last final wiggle before jumping down from the podium. Not bothering with the usual false niceties of saying goodbye, she made her way across the main floor to the dressing room. If she hurried she could still make it.
She could feel Vincent Harper watching her; his eyes boring into her as he took in her every movement.
He’d been in a bad mood all evening after not being able to find Lena at the underground station earlier. Riled that she’d somehow given him the slip once again, he’d driven the girls back here and had sat, in prime position at the main bar, watching them both like a hawk for the duration of the night.
He was trying to intimidate her, trying to put her on edge but Saskia wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of knowing that it was working.
Turning his way, she forced herself to look at him. He didn’t look away. Instead he stared back at her coldly. Saskia looked away first. A cold chill making its way up her spine as she shuddered.
The sooner she got out of this place the better. Saskia hated the club and everything it stood for. She felt so foolish now. So stupid that she’d allowed herself to be sucked into it all. The glitz and the glamour of the place. Expensive magnums of champagne; the girls all immaculately groomed.
It was all a facade. Fake, every bit of it.
The club was a front. A money-making machine trading off people’s misery, and Saskia couldn’t wait to get away from the place. These people made her feel sick. Joshua, Vincent, even Misty. They were all just in it for themselves.
The only reason Saskia was here tonight was because Vincent had driven her here; she’d had no choice. He hadn’t taken his eyes off her all night either, not for so much as a second. Still, she was done now. Her shift was over so she was free to leave.
Glancing back over her shoulder as she rushed down the corridor towards the changing rooms she’d half expected to see him following her, lurking somewhere behind her in the shadows.
He wasn’t though, and finally Saskia relaxed, thinking that he’d given up with his constant suspicions. Vincent had been relentless earlier. Questioning them both; convinced that she and Misty had helped Lena escape.
Pushing the changing room door open, Saskia was glad of the sudden silence away from the hustle and the noise of the club, the blinding lights of the main stage.
Even if the place did look like a bomb had hit it. Looking around at the chaos she saw the piles of clothes scattered across the floor, coats and bags discarded on every chair. The air was thick with the lingering smell of perfume and hairspray from earlier. Still, at least she was on her own; she didn’t have the energy to make small talk with any of the other girls.
Stepping out of her heels she pulled her jumper and jeans on over her underwear. She didn’t even bother to wipe away her make-up tonight. Instead she swept her hair up into a bun, pinning the loose strands back before grabbing her bag.
‘Oh, you leaving already?’ It was Misty. Walking in as if right on cue; catching Saskia before she left.
‘I’m just going to get off; I’m knackered,’ Saskia said, averting her gaze. Rooting around inside her handbag she pretended to look for her phone. Anything so that she didn’t have to look Misty in the eye.
She couldn’t. She was still too annoyed with her. She wasn’t the girl that Saskia thought she was.
‘Here… ’ Holding out the envelope, Misty knew that Saskia was still angry with her. ‘There’s a grand in there. It’s the money from last night’s party too. Think Joshua is making up for the little incident with Aaron.’
‘He’s making up for something… ’ Saskia muttered. Taking the envelope she tucked it into her bag without saying another word. It was hush money.
Joshua Harper was just trying to keep her sweet. They both knew it. Saskia had seen Misty going into Joshua’s office earlier this evening. She wouldn’t be surprised if it had been Misty’s idea to give her extra money; after all, Misty was the one in charge of keeping all the girls here happy. She was a pro at it. Saskia wondered if Misty had told them; if she had repeated everything that Lena had said about the boat, the trafficking.
There was no point asking her. Misty didn’t have any loyalty towards her; she was only loyal to the job. To this place and Joshua Harper.
Saskia knew she couldn’t trust her.
‘I’ve got to get going. I need to get my head down. See you tomorrow.’
Grabbing her handbag, Saskia threw the strap over her shoulder. Snubbing Misty as she started to say something. Saskia wasn’t in the mood to hear it. She needed to get out of here.
The place felt dirty, contaminated.
She felt dirty.
Hurrying out of the main doors, she made her way down to the bottom of the steps and didn’t stop until she was back out on the King’s Road. The icy breeze hit her; she wrapped her jacket tightly around her, glad of the fresh air. It felt like she could breathe again.
The skies were clear; the torrential rain from earlier had finally stopped. Glancing at her watch, she started to walk back up the King’s Road and towards Albert Bridge.
The roads were quieter now, almost empty. An odd taxi whizzing past; a few dregs of people still spilling out of the clubs.
It was a stark contrast to the chaos that would erupt in a few hours’ time when the Monday morning commute began. She couldn’t even think as far forward as tomorrow though. Her mind was still focused on tonight.
She wasn’t done yet. Picking up her pace, Saskia felt full of determination then. That something good would come out of all this mess. She’d make sure of it.
Misty might be capable of making promises with no intentions of keeping them, but that wasn’t how Saskia did things. She was a girl of her word.
Tonight, she’d done exactly what Misty had told her to do on her very first night. She’d put on an act so good she could have earned herself an Oscar. Working the stage without a care in the world she had danced her arse off tonight. She just hoped she’d done enough.
Hurrying now, she started running.
She just hoped she wasn’t too late.
38
Patting the mound with his spade, Colin was almost finished. He was pleased with himself. The ground looked undisturbed, exactly as he had found it.
It was the only time that he didn’t mind doing the backfill – when he knew that the casket below him was empty.
All he had to do now was arrange the wreaths once more, so that everything looked just so, to ensure that his colleagues would be none the wiser that the ground had been disturbed.
He could barely contain the excitement that bubbled inside him as he thought about his newly placed treasure in the wheelie bin beside him.
This was the moment he lived for. This one perfect moment.
The shrill clang of metal behind him made him jump, his joyous triumph rudely interrupted. Caught by surprise at the sound, Colin threw himself flat onto the ground.
The gate was locked? He was sure it was. He’d locked it behind him. Just as he always did.
He heard the noise again then. Louder this time, more urgent. Whoever it was sounded determined to get in.
He remained deadly still, his breathing slow, controlled, as he allowed his eyes to flicker through the darkness.
Nothing. No movement, only that noise.
Clang. Clang.
It was the main gate, the thick metal chain rattling against the railings. Someone was trying to force it open, trying to get into the cemetery.
A terrifying thought crossed his mind then.
They knew? His colleagues? The police? They must have been watching him, lying in wait ready to catch him in the act? Beads of perspiration trickled down Colin’s face as his heart raced inside his chest.
He couldn’t get caught. They’d lock him up. Leave him to rot. He could feel his chest tightening at the thought of being locked away again. Panic surged through him.
Desperate now, he reached out his hand, frantically smoothing the dent in the wet soil. Carefully sliding the sheet of tarpaulin next to him, he quietly folded it, then pushed it, along with his shovel, under the generous mound of wreaths around the grave. He prayed that if they caught him here it would be too dark for them to see that the grave had been disturbed.
Shit, thought Colin, realising they’d see the bin beside him. If they looked inside, he was doomed; the evidence would be there for all to see.
The noise at the front of the cemetery had stopped now, he realised.
Instead, he heard something else. Something nearer, by the fence to his side. Someone was climbing over the railings.
He saw the faint outline of a person, the shadowy silhouette. Then he heard footsteps, close now.
Lowering his body down into the wet, slimy mud, so that he was completely flat, Colin pressed his face down into the soil, praying that he would be camouflaged by the night. Swallowed up by its darkness.
He could taste mud on his lips, his tongue, could barely breathe, but still he didn’t move. Whoever it was they were right behind him. He could hear twigs breaking nearby, leaves rustling as the footsteps continued. He waited for a hand to reach down and grab him, for a torch to be shone in his face.
But then the noise slowly began to fade. Then there was nothing.
Curious, Colin looked up, apprehensive of what he might see. Expecting to be surrounded by the police, he hesitated, surprised.
It was just a girl. She was walking right past him. Oblivious to him. She looked like a ghost, at first, her pale white face lit up by the moonlight, enough for Colin to make out her features. She was young, nothing more than a child. She was holding something in her arms too. A package of some kind.
He relaxed then. His body slumping back down onto the cold, slushy ground, as the girl made her way through the sea of gravestones. She wasn’t here for him; his secret was safe.
The Taken Page 23
