Love, Death and Justice

by Sam Crescent

  “I’ll take you up on that offer.” Using the crutches, she went into the bathroom.

  “Now?”

  “Yes, I stink and need to get Cyril Woods off me as well as all the nasty bastards who’ve touched me in the last twenty-four hours while I was out of it.”

  They both stood in the bathroom as the tub filled with hot water. Catherine tried to balance on the crutches and get undressed, but it was a lot harder than she’d thought to stand on one foot, trying to remove her shirt with one hand while holding the crutches in the other.

  “Here, let me.” Lance took over, his larger hand covering hers where she fought with the jumper to get it over her head. He lifted it to her breasts. “Put your hands up.” Balancing, she lifted her arms in the air and the jumper was off in a swift movement, followed by the shirt underneath.

  She heard his rush of breath. Oops—no bra. Biting her lip, she closed her eyes, not wanting to see his reaction…at least not at first. When he made no move to touch her, she opened one eye and saw him waiting for her.

  “I’m not going to remove your clothes with your eyes shut. You’re going to know who’s touching you at all times.”

  “Okay.”

  Lance closed the gap and it was her turn to let out a gasp as he unbuttoned her trousers and pulled down the zip. He didn’t watch what he was doing but instead looked at her, his gaze penetrating down to her toes, never wavering as he bent to remove her trousers. Gently, he pulled them over the bandaged foot. Her pussy was dripping wet already.

  Lance stood then took her hand and helped her step out of the other side. His hand moved to her panties. Catherine stopped him. There was no way she wanted him to see how much he affected her.

  “I can leave these on,” she said. Silly, really—standing with her boobs swinging loose and refusing to let him remove her panties.

  One layer was fine, the other not.

  Without any argument, he picked her up in his arms, and Catherine lost herself in the fantasy of it being a night of passion—for being lifted to have meaning beyond an act of simply helping her into the bath.

  He lowered her into the water, careful to leave her foot dangling over the edge. She handed him the sponge and lay watching him. Lance washed her with a care and attention she could only recall her mother giving when she was a small child and ill. However, Lance wasn’t looking at her with just a caring nature. It was there somewhere, but she noted his quick glances at her breasts. Catherine may have been younger than her sister, but she was neither immune to men or passion, nor was she an innocent.

  The good thing about having a sister who loved and trusted you—she left you alone long enough to experiment.

  Catherine may have been naïve about her sister and her whereabouts, but the happenings between a man and a woman were not foreign to her. He took her good leg and washed up the inside until he reached the top then ran the sponge back down.

  Every time he moved up, she’d take a deep breath to stop herself begging him to touch her, to peel away her panties and run his thick fingers through her pussy. Lance used the sponge up her body, dipping down with her stomach, up past her ribcage, under her breasts and over them. She was sure she felt his hands brush across her budding nipples, but his touch went to her neck.

  Then his lips sealed over hers and he was kissing the living daylights out of her.

  She curved her hand round his neck and moaned when he plunged his tongue deep. She took his hand and placed it on her breast. Finally. Contact. Sex. She wanted— No. She craved him thrusting inside her.

  The sound of their heavy breathing permeated the air. Lance broke away and Catherine gasped as he tweaked her nipple, the delightful pain shooting straight to her clit. Their heavy petting increased. Just as Lance’s hand was travelling over her stomach to the top of her mons, a banging on the door interrupted their flow. They pulled apart like two naughty teenagers.

  “Stay here,” Lance ordered and Catherine didn’t need telling twice. Between her ankle and her wet, naked state, she wasn’t moving. Her pussy throbbed more than anything and all she wanted to do was push her hand past her panty line, and fuck her fingers inside her pussy. But now was not the time.

  “Ben wants us over at the bar. He wants answers now,” Lance informed her, coming back into the bathroom.

  Catherine felt the world spin around her.

  Ben would demand something of her now and she didn’t believe she had anything to give him.

  Chapter Eight

  Lance waited outside the bathroom, trying to convince himself to be the perfect gentleman. Their time would be better spent finding out the key to unlocking Cyril. Instead he was thinking about seducing a woman who’d been thrown into Cyril’s world because of her sister. No matter how much he tried to think of reasons to walk away from her, all he could think about was knocking on the door and finishing what Catherine had started. He wanted to strip her panties from her body and take her.

  Having been turned down in his offer of help dressing her, Lance had no other choice than to sit on the bed and wait it out. He heard her curses and muffled sobs and he dug his fingers into the muscle of his leg to stop himself charging in after her.

  Finally, after what seemed forever, she appeared, looking sore but tempting to the eye. She wore the baggy jumper, but it didn’t disguise any shape or curve.

  Cyril would have had a fortune on his hands with her.

  Her sensuality was natural and not forced or emphasised. Before she’d needed the crutches, her hips had swayed to their own beat, and her ass curved in a tempting angle saying, touch me.

  “Are we ready?” she asked.

  Lance admired her spunk—she gave as good as she got. Most women would have been screaming in the other direction by now, terrified of what was to come, but, even in pain, she seemed to keep it all together.

  “Yes.” He led her across the street to the twenty-four-hour bar.

  They entered and were immediately swamped by cigarette smoke. Catherine coughed while Lance wondered what had happened to the smoking law. They spotted Ben in the back, smoking a cigar and nursing a beer and what looked to be a shot of whisky.

  Something bad must have gone down for him to be on the whisky and smoke before nine.

  Lance guided Catherine through the crowd, trying to avoid any hits from other customers.

  Ben remained staring into space as they sat down in a secluded booth. At least they wouldn’t get interrupted here or Ben wouldn’t try anything sneaky in getting Catherine to spill her guts. Lance knew in his heart he was starting to care for the girl. He’d met her a day ago, but he felt as if he knew her through Sid.

  “Took your time,” Ben complained.

  “I was washing.” Catherine went defensive at his side and Lance placed a hand on her knee to calm her nerves.

  Time hadn’t been kind to his friend. Since the meeting with the medic, Beth, he’d changed…or maybe it was before that.

  “Or were you two fucking?”

  “Ben!” Lance warned but Ben waved him away, the matter forgotten.

  “Let’s get to the nitty-gritty. Catherine, you know something about Cyril and you’re going to tell us, otherwise it’s going to get ugly.” Ben’s tone was dark and left no room for argument.

  “I told you I don’t know anything.” Catherine tensed under his hand and Lance frowned.

  Ben stared into Catherine’s eyes. Lance looked at his friend and saw the change—something had broken inside him and now he was on a mission and determined to end Cyril once and for all.

  “Let’s get something straight—I’ll shoot one kneecap and then the other if you don’t start talking, and, if that doesn’t work, I’ll start on Lance. Either way, baby, tonight I intend to leave this bar with my information and with Cyril being nothing better than dead. You got me?”

  Okay, that was fucking out of order… Then Lance felt the gun under the table. They’d known each other more than fifteen years, had fought together and survived
through worse shit, and now Ben was breaking every bond of brotherhood they’d ever made.

  Catherine shook with fright, her hands twitching where they lay shaking on the table top. “I don’t know anything.”

  “Well, maybe if I put a little pressure on the ankle?”

  Catherine sobbed, gripping the edge of the table top as she tried to contain her pain. Lance reacted. He knocked the gun out of Ben’s hand and kicked, going for the shin.

  “Let’s do this in a civilised manner. You may have been in the business, Ben, but I’ve stayed in fucking shape, so don’t think for one minute I couldn’t take you out,” Lance forced out between clenched teeth.

  His friend had gone too far, threatening to harm a woman.

  “Your sister told you stuff. Now I’m telling you to trust me with that information.” Ben glared at his friend then turned to Catherine.

  She glared back, refusing to say anything.

  Lance could see the determination in her face. She may as well have shouted, ‘Fuck you, I’m not saying anything.’

  “We need this information, honey, now more than anything. You saw how dangerous Cyril has become.” Lance stopped speaking when a waitress brought them a beer and water.

  “Water, seriously?” Catherine argued with Ben.

  “Tell me about the stories and then we’ll get you an adult drink.”

  They tried to find out about the stories Sid used to tell, whether there was anything in the seemingly innocent tales, but finally Catherine lashed out, throwing the water in Ben’s face.

  “She told me, okay? Said she’d plant some kind of signal as stories in order for me to know the people who approached me were real and good. But her fucking stories were irrelevant, prick. Stories…fucking lame. Get me a real drink, asshole.” She pushed the glass at Ben and kept her gaze away from him.

  Lance was shocked. All this time he’d been sure Sid had been telling him the truth about Catherine and her lack of knowledge about Cyril and shit.

  Ben signalled the waiter, and Catherine waited until she’d been brought and had taken a long swallow of whisky. Lance wanted to pounce, rewind and try to understand everything that had just happened. It was insane to think of Catherine being any different than the closed off innocent she’d made out she was.

  “You’ve had your drink, now talk,” Ben growled, taking the glass from her.

  “Okay, so Sid didn’t tell me everything. She didn’t tell me how she worked for him or any of the favours she gave out. The whoring and all that part was a complete blank to me. Yes, she told stories, but nothing like what you’re getting at. Our parents used to work for Cyril, and I knew that.” She took a breath and started playing with a tissue napkin. “This is going to take some explaining, so save the questions. Sidney and I knew that Mum and Dad worked for Cyril—he’d eaten dinner at our table and complimented us as daughters. Our family had been fine with him, then it all went to pot when Cyril started running his fingers through Sid’s hair and praising how she looked. Dad went ape shit and that was when everything went fucked up. Cyril doesn’t take kindly to being told what to do. My dad died because he refused to give him Sid, and Mum died for refusing to go behind my dad’s back and do the same.”

  Lance could see it was hard for her to talk about.

  “For the longest time it was drummed into us to keep shut and keep quiet…no questions, and if anyone asked you knew nothing. When they died and it was just me and Sid, we kept things the same.”

  She gestured for some more whisky. For all her bravado of seconds ago, she seemed nervous.

  “About three months after Mum and Dad were killed we got a visit in our apartment. It was Cyril and his cronies. I was pushed into the bedroom where all I could do was listen to the tears and threats. Sid sounded so scared, but it was her they wanted to talk to. I was trapped in my room with this big bastard glaring over me for hours until finally they left. Sid was a nervous wreck. Scared as shit. We both were. We couldn’t go to the police, and Mum and Dad were dead. We had no one.”

  “Save the sob story.”

  Lance shot Ben a warning look. Catherine needed to get this off her chest and he couldn’t imagine how dangerous it would have been, how scary for two young girls to be threatened and have no one.

  “She told me Cyril wanted her to work for him. So, while I was in college and then university, struggling to make ends meet, Sid was doing everything he wanted. It started off as small stuff—a bit of companionship, a few jobs of luring men. I knew what Cyril was about. I was stupid to think Sid wasn’t one of his girls.” Catherine drummed her fingers along the table top. “Then everything changed and she told me how much danger I was in and what I needed to know. Cyril was killing people, getting Sid to lure them to a warehouse and torturing them. She took photos… I think the thing you’re looking for is the warehouse. Sidney told me, no matter what happened, they all met up in a warehouse.”

  “That’s it? Everything you told me could be bullshit,” Ben snarled.

  Catherine pushed back from the table, staring in his face. “Look behind the quick fix, arsehole. Sid wasn’t some cheap arse whore—she knew Cyril’s whereabouts, she made him fall for her big time, giving her access to all of his dirty little secrets. The mistake men like you make is thinking women like Sid are as thick as pig shit. You’ve got the warehouse—the only place that can actually be linked back to Cyril—and you’ve got me, and I’ve got plenty to put Cyril behind bars.”

  “We need evidence. A warehouse full of drugs and shit isn’t gonna cut it with the big guys I’m in contact with. Too many of the force are on Cyril’s payroll.”

  “I’ve told you I’ve got the evidence, why do you think he didn’t kill me? Sid left stuff behind and I hid it away. My apartment has been ransacked and I bet they don’t have the first clue where the evidence lies. Tapes, photos—everything you need to put the force to ransom and Cyril in jail for life. You get the warehouse. I’ll get the rest.”

  Lance sat back, shocked and speechless. The two young women who’d been threatened by the worst kind of criminal had the means to end Cyril forever.

  “Why should I believe you?” Ben asked.

  “You knew Sid. You saw the type of woman she was. Do you really think she’d sit back and allow Cyril to ruin her? Her intention when it began was to see the end of the bastard. I’m just saddened she won’t get to see the final result.”

  Lance saw Ben’s doubt and he understood. They’d dealt with men older than this girl who couldn’t pull off what she reckoned they could.

  “The one good thing about being a young woman is men such as yourself and Cyril never believe we’re capable of anything. Big mistake.” Catherine snatched up her whisky, took a gulp, grabbed her crutches and stood. “Big mistake. Bring some wine with you to the room,” she said to Lance before turning her attention back to Ben. “I suggest you get some rest. We’ve got a long drive tomorrow.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “To get the warehouse and the evidence. Get your people ready to join us. This is going to be a party.”

  Lance watched her move her way through the crowd before finally slipping out of sight.

  “What do you think?” Ben asked him.

  Lance leaned over the table and smacked Ben’s head down on the hard table top. “Don’t ever fucking turn your gun on me or a woman again. Friend or not, I’ll fucking end you.” Lance got up from the table, uncaring of the swollen nose his friend now sported. “I believe her and I think it’s time to end this.”

  He threw down a five-pound note, went to the bar and purchased a bottle of wine, not bothering to look back.

  * * * *

  Lance watched Catherine sip her wine, her smile still in place even with everything they’d been through—the bullets and the death of their sisters… She was one amazing woman. After what she’d said tonight, he admired her even more. She sat on the floor, her injured leg extended, the half-empty wine bottle by her side. A survivor. He wo
ndered what it would have been like to meet her before all the shit had kicked off with Cyril.

  “Sidney never talked about you. She talked about her other… I guess you’d call them customers and clients, but never Lance Clay. Strange she’d tell me about all the killings and drugs and crap but not the fact she had to use her body to bring Cyril down. It must have hurt her—being with him and knowing what he could do.”

  “She did it all for you and your parents. Sid was one of the strongest women I know. She laughed at me when I suggested bringing Cyril down. Sid and I never had a great relationship. There was too much anger in me from my own sister and she thought I’d end up getting killed, dealing with a man like Cyril. He was the darkness while I was the light—lame, I know. She said I was crazy, taking on Cyril, and she was right. I mean…you, me and Ben are trapped here waiting for the best opportunity to take the bastard out, which looks as though it should be tomorrow. Seems strange to think of him being gone after so long.”

  “I don’t get why a rich man such as yourself would need to dirty his hands killing another man.” Catherine took a sip of her wine but kept her gaze on him. The trousers and jumper did nothing to hide her body from his gaze. Her plump breasts were outlined, along with her sweeping curves and full hips.

  “I’m rich because it was all passed down to me—I’m the only son—and I also have a great head for business. I was a bounty hunter and in the forces along with Ben. Childhood friends and all that,” Lance told her, smiling, remembering the glory days when he didn’t have a care in the world. “Like a lifetime ago.”

  “Sid talked of becoming a writer. She told the most amazing stories. Never put them on paper, but when we didn’t have enough money for the television or anything she’d sit and tell me stories for hours.” She paused, tears clear in her eyes. “I’ll miss her, always. I’m not one to show lots of emotion but inside I feel the pain. I love her and one day soon I’ll stand by her graveside and she’ll have a proper burial. Next to our parents. She deserves that, after working so hard to bring Cyril down. Then, only days before it’s possible, Cyril ends her life. How did he know?”