A fire extinguisher is let off, and I cough as the fumes reach me.
“You are under arrest. You do not have to say anything, but anything you do say…” The rest fades to a blur of words.
The next thing I know I’m cuffed and in the back of a police car. It’s not until I get to the station that I ask the man behind the booking desk what I’m actually being charged with.
“Fraud and money laundering,” the older man says. He takes my finger prints and my belongings. Of course they already have my fingerprints on record. I have a juvenile record. Stealing cars mainly.
I’m shoved in a holding cell, and there I wait. I know I won’t be in here long. William Kingsley owns half the police force in this city. Though that thought is short lived. Something must have gone wrong. Why would they come to the club? They never have before, because my father pays them to leave us alone.
After what feels like forever, they finally open my cell. I’m not released though. Instead, they transfer me to Her Majesty’s Prison Brixton to await a bail hearing in three day’s time. I’m kept in solitary because with my name, apparently I’m a threat to the general prison population, whatever that means. I’m in for fraud. It’s not like I’m just going to kill someone while I’m here.
It’s twenty-four hours before the door finally opens and a guard stands in front of me with a pair of handcuffs.
“Hold your hands out in front of you,” he says. I do and he snaps the cuffs around my wrist. Two officers escort me along a corridor and into a room. There’s a single table, a metal loop in the centre. Sitting there is my father. He looks disheveled, his suit missing. Instead he wears just his shirt and suit trousers. His hair is a mess as though he’s been dragging his hands through it repeatedly. The guards force me into a seat and my wrists are cuffed to the loop before they leave.
“Son,” my father says.
“What is going on?” I ask.
He swipes a hand down his face, suddenly looking older and more worn than he ever has. “Your brother got arrested for attempted murder.”
“I thought you had things like this under control.”
“Yeah, as long as we don’t cause any issues. Like, say, nearly beating an average Joe to death.” He shakes his head. “That fucking kid.”
“It wasn’t business?”
“No. It wasn’t business, and he couldn’t even do me the courtesy of killing the fucking kid and making this disappear.” He tips his head back and a long breath trickles through his lips. “So now all deals are off. Hence you’re here.”
“They’re trying to get me on fraud and money laundering.”
He nods. “I know, son.”
“So fix it.”
“I can’t.” There’s a sadness in his eyes, something akin to genuine regret.
I lean forward. “That’s your club. Your money. How are you not in here?”
“I called in a favour.”
“Great, so just do that again.”
He scrubs over the day old stubble of his jaw. “I can’t. . .use it, on you.”
“What do you mean?”
“Judas is looking at twenty-five years, Jase.” He shakes his head. “I can’t let him go down for that long. Money laundering, you’ll get five, maybe ten years max.”
Is he serious? “Ten years,” I breathe, my heart beating into my throat. Ten years of my life, behind bars, for shredding his documents, and laundering his money.
“I’m sorry,” he chokes, pushing to his feet and walking to the door.
“Dad!” He opens the door. “Dad, don’t leave me here.”
But he’s already gone. He left me.
I’m taken back to my cell, where I wallow in self-pity. My father abandoned me and picked Judas. I barely sleep that night, nightmares of my mother plaguing me long into the dark hours of the night.
The next day, the guards come again, cuffing me once more. I’m led to the same room, and my pulse ticks up as they lead me to the same door. My father must be back. He came back for me. He’s going to fix it.
When they open the door, I still. Sitting in the chair, a couple of feet from the table, is Saint. I’m guided to the chair across from him and cuffed to the table as before.
The guards leave, and silence stretches between me and my estranged half brother.
“You find yourself in quite the predicament, Jase.” I say nothing and he glances at the handcuffs, shaking his head. “This is sloppy on my father’s part.”
“What do you want, Saint?”
“To help you.” A twisted smile touches his lips and he tilts his head in a way that looks almost inhuman. “You see, our father will always pick Judas. He’s the favourite, the golden child, every bit as sordid and corrupt as William himself,” he spits through clenched teeth. “They are sinners, Jase.”
“So am I,” I whisper.
That seems to please him, which puzzles me. “Ah, yes, but some sins can be for the greater good.”
I tilt my chin up. “How can you help me?”
He flicks a hand through the air. “My father likes to think he is the power in this city, but he is not the true power.” His eyes flash. “I am.”
Saint snaps his fingers toward a camera in the corner of the room. Seconds later the door opens and the two guards come back in. One unlocks my cuffs, and the other places a bag of my possessions on the table; my suit, shoes, watch. Everything I was wearing upon arrest.
Saint stands up. “Get dressed.” Then he leaves the room. I change into my wrinkled suit and slip my shoes on. When I open the door Saint stands in the corridor looking wholly uncomfortable. Wordlessly, he turns and I follow him. We walk straight through the prison security and out the front door. Who the hell is he?
He escorts me to a car, and I get in the back seat. He says nothing to me the entire drive back into the city.
We finally pull up outside a building that looks like a theatre of some description. Purgatory. The name is in lights, like an old fashioned movie theatre. Saint gets out of the car and I follow suit. He fastens the buttons of his jacket and slips a set of keys from his pocket. He unlocks the front door to the building and invites me in with a sweep of his arm.
We walk into what looks like an entrance lobby, only there’s no popcorn or drinks stand, just two small ticket booths that are currently unoccupied.
He crosses the lobby and pushes open a set of double doors. “This is Purgatory,” he says. As soon as I step through the doors, my jaw drops. It’s an old theatre, but I only know that because of the tiered flooring and period features. The stage that would once have seen performers now houses an enormous DJ booth. Screens stretch behind it, over ten foot tall. The tiers that would have once held seating now have VIP booths, each one sectioned off from the next. Each level has it’s own bar.
“You turned a theatre into a club.”
“Yes. It was quite the undertaking.”
He slides an envelope from the inside pocket of his jacket, handing it to me. The paper strains against the thick wad of documents inside. I slip my finger beneath the flap and read what’s inside. It’s a deed, for the club. A transfer of ownership from Saint Kingsley to Jase Kingsley. His signature is already scrawled across the bottom. I lower the paperwork and meet his waiting gaze.
“You want to give me a nightclub.”
“Yes.”
“Why?
He holds his hands out. “Why not?”
“Because you don’t know me.”
“Oh, but I know all I need to about you, Jase.”
I hand the papers back to him. “I can’t take this.” He doesn’t take it. “Why would you do this?” I demand.
“What you see as a grand gesture is merely… lets say a small guarantee of your loyalty.”
“You want to buy me?”
He laughs. “A Kingsley cannot be bought. I own many properties, brother. This is but one.”
Again, he doesn’t know me, but I feel pointing that out for a second time will just
irritate him. He obviously wants something. “Why give it to me? Why not ask me to run it?”
Something volatile flashes in his eyes. “I am not our father. I will not treat you as a mere employee.”
I look at the paperwork in my hand, realization dawning. “You want me tied to you. Legally. You want a paper trail.” If he ever got caught, he would link back to me, and I would go down with him. He’s binding me to him.
“Ah, the things we will achieve together, Jase.” A smile touches his lips. “What William and Judas had; that is but a fraction of what we will build.”
As I look at him, I realize, I believe him. He’s ruthless, calculated, smart, far smarter than our father. And he got me out of prison. He clearly already has more power than William in that regard. More than that though, I think he’s looking for something. Maybe my psychopathic brother is also looking for a sense of belonging. Just as I always have. I thought I found it with my father, but he abandoned me. Once again I feel lost.
“What do you want from me?” I ask.
There’s that unsettling smile again. “Your soul.”
It seems like a small price to pay for an entire nightclub, and my freedom, especially as mine is already so tainted. It hardly seems worth having. “Okay.”
He drops the keys into my hand.
And that is how I sold my soul to the devil.
Chapter Four
Two years later
Saint did exactly as he said he would, building something great, something untouchable. And he sits upon his throne like a God, seeing himself as something better than the mere mortals who scurry around him.
I pull up outside Salvation. Another nightclub. It seems us creatures of the night tend to operate whilst others drink and party. We invite them into our world for a moment, so we aren’t alone.
Salvation is out of the main city. It’s an old church that sits at the end of a rutty track. It’s the last place anyone would look for a nightclub, and I think that’s why Saint likes it. It’s his private abode, away from the world, other than those he invites in. The church looks abandoned from the outside, it’s boarded up windows telling no secrets as to what is inside.
I park my car and get out, strolling to the front door. The old heavy oak allows only a feint hum from inside to trickle out. I knock, and there’s the heavy thud of a solid iron bolt being slid back. When the door opens, a wall of heavy bass hits me. The bouncer glances at me before letting me in. The main body of the church has been gutted, the pews absent. Where the altar once stood is a DJ, and a bar sits off the one side. Flashing lights cut across my vision before dancing over the sea of writhing bodies. A mezzanine floor above houses a VIP section, but that isn’t the real VIP section. I cross the dance floor to the back of the club where a door opens onto a hallway. There are several storage rooms and offices back here, in what was once the old Sunday school. At the end of the hall is a lone door, guarded by a single bouncer. Upon seeing me, he opens the door for me.
“Mr. Kingsley,” he says as I pass him.
Beyond the door is a set of steps that descend beneath the church. There’s an instant chill in the air the second I start the descent. At the bottom is the catacombs. Though the creepy tombs have been refurbished, there’s still an air of something wrong about the place. The walls and domed ceilings are now white, and in each domed section, sits a table, surrounded by chairs. Thin curtains offer privacy, which is needed with the clientele Saint has down here. This place is like the personal club for the shady underground characters of London. This is a safe place that they can come and discuss business. And Saint gets access to them and their secrets. After all, a curtain is not sound proof. All the people here owe some kind of allegiance to Saint in one way or another.
I pass the bar and walk to the huge double doors at the end of the vast room. With a knock, I push one open and step inside. This is Saints domain, where he spends most of his time and takes his meetings. There’s on open fire place at the far end and a small bar in the corner. In the centre of the room is a white leather couch, and across from it is Saint. His chair is high backed, the wood intricately carved. I know he only got it because it looks like a throne. He’s that self righteous.
“Saint.”
He slowly lifts his head. “You’re late.”
I look at my watch. I’m not even a minute late. “Well, I’m here now.” I’ve learned it’s not even worth arguing with him. He likes things how he likes them, and there is no changing his mind. In his head, punctuality must be to the second.
He glares at my response, a muscle in his jaw ticking as his fingers tighten on the arms of the chair. “I need you to handle something for me.” I step forward and he hands me a single piece of paper. “Quietly.”
I nod. “Done.”
I turn and walk away. This is how things are done with Saint. It took me a long time to realize just how fanatical he is. Everything Judas and William ever said about him is right, but also not even close to how extreme he is. He’s deeply religious, and also a psychopath. And I am his way of cheating his God. His sinner.
I often wondered why he specifically wanted me, but now I know. I meet a very specific set of criteria. I was raised in the church, and yet I have no morals. Due to my militant upbringing in the church, I believe in God, which means I understand Saint to a degree. He needs someone who both respects the faith and yet is willing to sin. So I rack up his sins, because I know that my soul is already tainted. What is it they say, better to ask forgiveness than permission? My sins are too grave for either.
I double check the address on the scrap of paper before glancing at the four story London town house. Ben Hale obviously has money.
Getting out of the car, I cross the street and walk up to the front door, knocking. A few seconds later the door opens, and a woman stands in front of me. She looks me up, assessing whether she thinks I’m worthy of her doorstep. Apparently, my suit makes me passable.
“I need to speak to Ben Hale.”
She starts to close the door. “Contact his office.”
I slam my hand against the wood and offer her a smile. Her eyes go wide. “It isn’t that kind of conversation.” I cock a brow and she trembles.
“Ben!” She calls out, refusing to take her eyes off me. “Ben!”
There’s the hurried click of shoes over marble before the door opens wider, revealing the man I need to kill. He wears a shirt and trousers with braces stretched over his gut. His grey hair is thinning, and a fine sheen of sweat covers his red face. He pushes his glasses up his nose and looks me over.
“Mr Hale.” I step over the threshold, forcing my way inside the house.
“Now, listen to me young man—”
I grin. “Do you know who I am?”
He shakes his head, a couple of chins wobbling with the action. “Of course not.”
“I believe you know my brother, Saint.”
His face blanches white and he grabs his wife’s arm, tugging her away. “Look.” He swallows heavily and tugs at the collar of his shirt. “Tell him I’ll pay him the money.”
I close the door behind me and he jumps at the click. “He’s not really one for second chances.”
He holds up his hand. “We can…”
I grab the wife and wrench her back to my chest. She starts to scream, so I slam my free hand over her mouth.
“Please don’t. Please,” he begs.
“You did this,” I say to him. These people. They climb into bed with men like Saint and think they can play him. Idiots. This isn’t some business acquaintance. You don’t make a deal with the devil and fuck him over. Adjusting my grip, I release my hold on the wife’s mouth. She screams for a second before I snap her neck. The sickening crunch of her spinal cord is permeated only by the broken cry that comes from her husband.
“No!” The man sobs. “No, No.” I drop her body to the floor and he falls to his knee’s beside her.
“You should be careful who you try to screw over Mr. Hale.
Bad choices lead to bad consequences.”
He sobs, incoherent words falling from his lips. I move behind him and slip the knife from my pocket. He barely seems to notice me as he strokes over his wife’s hair. Her lifeless eyes stare at the ceiling. I slash the knife over his throat so fast, he never see’s it coming. He falls forward, his throat emptying all over his wife’s lifeless form.
It’s only when I turn around that I see a young girl crouched at the top of the stairs, peeking through the railings. She’s maybe five or six. On a sigh, I put the knife away and start climbing the stairs.
Chapter Five
I pull up to Purgatory. My dashboard lights up, my phone ringing, showing Saints name. That’s the third time he’s tried to call today. I haven’t spoken to him for two days, since he gave me the order for Ben Hale. That was not an easy job. I act immoral, but the truth is, each life takes something from me; a little bit of whatever good I once had. I slip further and further away from being the person my mother wanted to be. You’ve never been the person she wanted you to be. You were born wrong. Saint and I have that one thing in common.
Yesterday was also the anniversary of my mother’s death; three days before Christmas. It’s just been a bad couple of days.
Ignoring the call, I get out of the car. Inside, the club is busy as always. Every VIP booth is booked out, and the dance floor is packed to capacity with writhing bodies. When Saint first gave me this place I was suspicious. Who just gives away a night club? I thought it was way too much. Now though…now I see what my naïve young self couldn’t then. This club was not free. When Saint said he wanted my soul, he was absolutely right. His business is smart, but there is a cost, a dirty underbelly, and I am the man getting his hands dirty. It doesn’t usually bother me, but this time of year I start to think of my mother. I know how disappointed she would be. No, she wouldn’t. She knows your bad. It’s why she killed herself. Pushing the thoughts from my mind, I hook right and follow the pathway that cuts between the VIP booths to the office which sits above the DJ booth, a glass box that looks out over the entire club. From the outside it looks like nothing more than an enormous mirror. I open the door and pause when I step inside.
Devious Resolutions Page 26
