Rankled (The Cardigan Estate Book 8)

by Emmy Ellis

  And he was right. It was hot on her hand.

  That seemed to draw her out of her rage, and she yanked the blade out. Pulled a sentence he’d said to her from her memories. Stared into his blood-splashed eyes. “Listen, I’ve got something to tell you, and you’re going to love it.” She searched for another one. “I just stabbed someone.” Mimicking him from the past, she held one hand up. There were no dark patches on her skin from the blood like his had been once upon a time, the darkness keeping the terrible colour from view. It was bright red, vibrant beneath the lights. “Not so funny now, is it, Ollie?” And she plunged the knife into his throat, leaving the handle sticking out.

  Ollie spluttered, a river flowing from his mouth, and he choked on it.

  “That was handsome,” George said.

  “Perfect.” Greg motioned to Rover. “Want to do him an’ all?”

  Princess gave her former customer her attention. Rover was white, his lips a strange pale lilac, his eyes wide. No, she didn’t want to kill him.

  She didn’t hate him enough.

  “No.” She stepped back, the drying blood tightening the skin on her cheeks. “He isn’t worth my time.”

  Greg clapped once. “Good. My turn then.” He produced a potato peeler, the kind with a U at the top of the handle, the sharp, open blade going across like an exposed razor. “See this, spud?”

  George roared with laughter. “Spud. Fuck me.”

  Greg placed the blade against Rover’s cheekbone at the top, near the temple. “Now this is going to hurt.”

  “Please, I’ll do anything. Please…”

  The last word was swallowed by a scream. Greg had pulled the peeler down towards the edge of a previous slice, done when they’d first brought him here, skin coming away, curling like apple peel the farther he went towards the side of the nose. Blood rushed to the open wound, and Greg moved to the other cheek, leaving the length of peeled skin dangling. He pressed again, peeled again, and Rover’s scream turned silent, his mouth wide, his eyes even wider, a piss stain growing at his crotch.

  “All these pissy-pant fellas,” George shouted above the noise. “Bloody babies, all three of them. McFadden wet himself an’ all.”

  Princess faced the wall she’d previously leant against, George’s and Greg’s manic laughter sending a chill up her spine. Those men were beyond dangerous the way they tortured with such control, and she was glad of one thing: that she was on their right side.

  “This is boring now,” Greg said.

  Princess tuned out Rover’s sobs. Forced herself into a world where everything was muted. The gunshot dragged her out, and she spun to face the carnage, her chest so tight from fear she couldn’t breathe.

  Rover had a hole in his brow.

  George and Greg walked around the back and inspected his head.

  “That’s an exit wound and a half, that is,” George said. “Well done, bruv.”

  Princess swallowed.

  Christ Almighty, it was over.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Freesia, real name Sally Glover, loved her new job in the parlour. Gone were the anxious evenings standing on Debbie’s corner, worrying about the babysitter coping and whether anyone Sally knew would spot her standing there. Now, she worked in the day, during school hours, and the other ladies were nice. Dahlia, Clover, Carnation and, of course, the lovely Amaryllis who was in charge of them all.

  Sally missed the evening girls who were still on the street, especially Tulip, but she was in the parlour at night now anyway, so they hadn’t got to spend much time together lately.

  Sally didn’t mind having a flower name. She was willing to be called a fucking old cow if it meant she could do her thing in safety, and besides, telling customers her real name wasn’t ideal.

  It was three o’clock, a Friday, and her final customer had left. She’d just had the last of several showers today and, glad to be in normal clothes instead of the items she put on for the punters, she sprayed then wiped down her massage table, then scooped up her handbag, draping the strap over her shoulder.

  Life was good lately, better than it had been the last couple of years, and the future appeared as bright as a rosy sun compared to the recent storms. She’d found her footing in the world again at last, her kids were happy now the death of their father wasn’t such a raw memory, and Sally hid her mourning beneath an unwavering smile and laughter that disguised the hurt.

  She had to, for her children’s sake. She had to show them that you could move on, find joy in life after someone you loved had passed away.

  No guesses as to why Sally had turned to sex work. With Adam’s wages gone, hers from the shoe shop hadn’t been enough. The child tax credits were a joke, so she’d found another way to make money. After a couple of months, seeing the amount of cash she was capable of earning, she’d ignored the tax form to renew her benefits, left the shoe shop, and devoted all her evenings bar Sundays to the street.

  It wasn’t something she’d envisaged doing, but after the first few people had done their business, she’d told herself it wasn’t so bad. Most men just wanted to get it up, get it done, and be gone—and she wasn’t complaining. There was the odd one who wanted a loving scenario, and in those instances she pretended she was with Adam to get her through, although she stuck to the rule of no kissing.

  That was too intimate. It meant you cared.

  In reception, she smiled at Amaryllis behind the desk. “I’m off now, love.”

  “Okay. See you Monday then.” Amaryllis smiled, but it wasn’t her usual beam. She’d appeared weighed down by something this past week, a look of brokenness about her, as if she’d seen some shocking things and couldn’t get them out of her head.

  Sally doubted the older woman would share any burdens with her so didn’t offer her ear for a chat. Besides, she had to collect the kids from the primary and get them home, make their tea. Tonight they were having fish fingers, chips, and beans, and for afters, she was surprising them with a fancy cake she’d snapped up at half price in Tesco. Chocolate.

  She walked out of The Angel via the front, ignoring the whistles from the men seated at tables. She was used to the humiliation, the result of which no longer presented itself as a hot stain on her cheeks, and she was also used to them thinking they had the right to comment on how she looked. Some said her long black hair was beautiful, her face pretty, and she supposed that was better than the lewd comments, but that they had to comment at all just told her they objectified women.

  Adam never had.

  She missed him.

  She walked down the street, the sun less violent than it had been recently, and turned the corner, going past the cemetery where Adam was buried, sending up a prayer to him, hoping he was happy wherever his soul had gone. The primary was at the end around another corner, and soon the shouts of the children being let out would filter into the air, excited chatter joining it. She smiled to herself, so proud of how the kids had turned out. Ellie was a little firecracker, so bright and cheerful, while Noah was solemn if he didn’t know you, only showing his cheeky side when he came out of his shell. They were her life, and she wouldn’t have got through Adam’s passing without them, nor her mother, who usually got on Sally’s wick with her constant ‘looking down her nose’ attitude.

  God knows what she’d say if she found out what Sally now did to earn a crust.

  There it was, the noise of the kids, and Sally hurried her pace, veering round the corner and smacking into someone’s chest. She stared up, about to say sorry but clamped her mouth shut at the scowl on the big man’s rugged face. He had a suit on, although his features spoke of someone who’d be more at home in trackie bottoms and a sports T-shirt, sparring in a boxing ring. His nose was skewed, broken sometime in the past.

  “You ought to watch where you’re going, love.” He tilted his wide head and studied her. “Do I know you?”

  Had she slept with him? She didn’t think so. Couldn’t recall.

  “Hmm,” he sa
id. “I know where you’re from. You’re that slapper, aren’t you.”

  Frightened, she stepped to the side, aiming to get past.

  He stepped that way, too.

  “Look, I need to go and pick up my kids. Can you move, please?” She was angry now, pissed off he was yet another bloke who thought he could speak to her how he wanted, just because she opened her legs for money.

  “Bit rude, aren’t you?”

  She tried to get by him again. “Please, I just want to get on.”

  A car horn tooted, and the man gripped her upper arm and dug his fingers in. “You’re not going anywhere for the minute.”

  She was shitting herself, her heartbeat going wild. The car drove past, and she turned to it, hoping to get the attention of the driver. The bloke held up his other hand, acknowledging whoever sat behind those tinted windows.

  “Let go,” she said. “You’re hurting me.”

  “Listen, just shut your mouth for a second, all right? I’ll let you go once that car comes back. In the meantime, have a read of this.” He fished a folded piece of paper out of his suit jacket pocket and flapped to open it out. Held it up in front of her. A slight breeze ruffled the jagged pieces at the top where he’d ripped it from a spiral notepad.

  Sally,

  Now you’re earning good money, I’ve come to collect. Your late husband owes me seven grand and eighty pence—the pence is for a chocolate bar. Galaxy, I believe. You know how much he liked that. So, I want paying. Cash. I’ve had my eye on you, calculated your earnings, and in the two years you’ve been putting it out, minus your living expenses, I reckon you’ll have enough. As insurance, in case you don’t…well, you’ll see in a minute or two.

  Regards,

  D

  Horror drenched her. Seven grand? How the fuck did Adam owe that? Who had he borrowed it from? Why hadn’t she heard about this until now? Who was this ‘D’, the fella in front of her? She swallowed down her fear and looked up at the big man.

  “I don’t know anything about this. Please, can I just collect my children, then we can discuss this.”

  “No need. Just behave for another couple of minutes. I can see this has caught you unawares.”

  “I swear I don’t know what this is about.”

  “Adam wasn’t who you thought he was. It’s the way it had to be. None of us can tell our families what we do. Bit of a pest at times when the missus asks questions about me nipping out at odd hours, but it is what it is.”

  Sally thought back to her time with Adam. He’d gone out at odd hours, but she’d accepted his explanation because he was a plumber and people had emergencies, didn’t they. He’d always come home with a wad of cash, so she hadn’t queried it.

  “Light bulb gone off, has it?” He at least appeared a bit sorry for her.

  But she didn’t want his pity. She wanted his hand off of her. She wanted her kids. And she wanted to get hold of The Brothers and tell them about that horrible note, the money. This nasty bloke. The car.

  He smiled at the toot of another horn. “Watch.”

  The same car sailed past, and she stared at it. At the faces close to the rear window, which wasn’t as tinted. Ellie was smiling, waving, while Noah didn’t look too happy.

  Sally’s guts went south.

  “No! No! Oh my God, no…” She tried to run, her gaze locked on her precious babies, but he still held her arm.

  He jerked her so she looked at him. “Now then, they’re all right at the moment, think they’re going on a play date with my boss’s kids, staying overnight seeing as it’s the weekend. We’ve even been in your house and packed some of their clothes for them, taken the teddies off their beds. But their happiness can change if you don’t do as you’re told. The money. By Sunday, four p.m. If you don’t bring it to the place specified when I next make contact… Those little faces in the back of that car?” He paused. Stared hard. “You won’t ever see them again.”

  To be continued in Ruined, The Cardigan Estate 9