Slow Dancing (The Second Chances Series Book 4)

by Isobelle Cate

  Drake looked out the enormous hangar door. The glare of lights inside the edifice made the night darker. Only the occasional rumble of jets flying overhead before landing and taxiing towards the airport’s main hub indicated that they were not alone.

  He continued.

  “I thought I was finally going to be a part of a real family. It didn’t matter that my real mother hadn’t come for me. Here were two people willing to share their home and shower me with their love. My life was what I had hoped for. Loving parents, a good home. Then Mum became pregnant.”

  He sighed striding to where Oliver was and sat on the other chair flanking the simple Formica table. “My sister was the first and only biological child and when she finally arrived, I was discarded.”

  Oliver’s lips flattened. Drake saw the compassion in his friend’s eyes so he looked away.

  “My parents gave their entire attention on Eleanor. They doted on her, spent more time with her than with me. I didn’t mind because I was happy I had a sister I could care for, you know? I understood a baby needed more attention. Nothing is permanent when you come from an orphanage. Kids I used to hang out with would someday be gone, adopted by a family who’d call them their own.

  “It’s hard being starved of a mother’s embrace and a father’s strength. It’s unfair when a mother sings to her child and you only have a song from the radio as your lullaby. It’s not right when a child has his father to talk with, who is stern but kind because he wants you to grow up to be a good kid. Me?” Drake snorted. “I had some orphanage official who told me right from wrong not because they cared but because they got paid an hourly wage to say those things so we didn’t get into trouble.”

  Oliver looked away. “I don’t think everyone is like that.”

  “Yeah well, I had those telling me off.” Drake shrugged then sighed. “Still the orphanage was the roof over my head, where there was warm food but rationed, where I had a bed to rest and see hope continuously slide away after another parent-less day. It was home. But when I got the taste of what home was like with real parents, I did everything I could to be counted. Be human. Be me. Eleanor was part of that family who’d never leave because she was family.”

  “You’re holding an empty bottle.” Oliver nudged his chin.

  Drake planted the bottle on the table and swivelled to get another.

  “Things started to change.” He popped the cover. “Mum became distant. She was no longer enthusiastic about the things I did or concerned about the scrapes I got into. Dad…well he was always distant but that became as far as the Marianas Trench when my sister arrived. I was no longer called for breakfast…even lost my place at the table so I had to get my own plate and eat whatever was left. Mum didn’t bother to makes sure I had clean clothes. Still I didn’t mind. I learned to do things myself. But when they started eating together and still not call me or wonder where I was, I knew. I returned to the orphanage except that the orphanage was Henry and Sonia Rosen’s house. I couldn’t understand what had happened, why they both suddenly became cold and unreachable.

  Then one afternoon, I knew. They hadn’t realized I’d come home from school. Dad wanted to return me to the orphanage. He said that since they had created a beautiful daughter, they no longer needed someone who wasn’t biologically theirs.”

  Oliver inhaled sharply.

  Drake let out a humourless chuckle. “I had just been a prop.”

  “I’m sorry, Drake. Man, that really sucks.” Oliver shook his head, his eyes empathetic. They rounded in disbelief as he expelled a long drawn out breath. “Does Bethany know this?”

  Drake nodded. He leant forward with his elbows on his knees.

  “Her house became my home. Cora, her mother often asked me to tea. I’d help around the house when I could because I didn’t want them to think I was a free loader. Bethany told me it never even crossed their mind so why would it cross mine?”

  Drake’s lips quirked to one side at the memory of Bethany’s blue eyes wide and staring at him like he’d developed two heads when she had asked that question. He didn’t reply. Instead, he laced his fingers with hers and fell in love with the blush that coloured her cheeks. With Bethany beside him, he’d be fine.

  “Bethany and I would go to the roof of her home, just sit there weaving our dreams, imagining our futures until it was time to return to my house. She was the only one who saw the real me. She broke through the defences I built. Everyone was afraid of me in school and wanted me gone. Except her. I always topped the class. Miles and our Math teacher vouched for me so the head teacher couldn’t kick me out.” A cynical chuckle emitted from his throat. “That and making sure Wood Park High retained their premier spot in the school league tables as one of the best institutions to send your child for high school. Then Andrew and I fought. It gave the head teacher a reason to expel me. No warning, no seclusion. After the expulsion, my dad kicked me out of the house.”

  “Shit, man.” Oliver muttered, shaking his head in sympathy.

  Drake lost himself to the agonising memory of being forced to drift away, unable to hold on to the lifeline that Bethany’s presence had provided.

  “I broke my promise to Bethany, Cray.” His voice cracked. “I left the girl I’d fallen in love with. When I came back looking for her, to ask her to be mine, she was gone.”

  “So you and Tabler…”

  “We have a long history,” Drake exhaled pressing his lips. “He always bullied Bethany because she was less than perfect. She’s partially deaf.”

  “I didn’t even notice she was deaf.” Oliver looked up in astonishment.

  “She doesn’t notice that she wears hear hearing aid either.” Drake chuckled. “Lost part of her hearing in an accident.”

  “So…Tabler.” Oliver prodded.

  “Always picked on her but he couldn’t do that when I was there. He cornered Bethany at the back of the school once. I heard her screaming just as I came out of the gym.” Drake clenched his jaw. “When I saw what Andrew was doing, tearing her shirt and lifting her skirt, I lost my shit. When I got kicked out I was so fucking terrified for her. I was also afraid for me, too. Where would I go now? I didn’t have any friends except for Bethany. It was several months later when Coach Miles found me in the streets and took me in. Taught me everything about mixed martial arts until I could no longer stand. I owe that man my life, man. Fought my way to where I am now but lost the girl who meant more to me than my own existence.”

  “Until our wedding,” Oliver concluded.

  Drake nodded. “I didn’t tell her Tabler was here or this clusterfuck Caius dumped on me had something to do with the boy who terrorized her. I didn’t want her to be afraid, not when things were going so well for her. For us both.”

  “I’m going to kill that son of a bitch for hurting Lissie,” Oliver ground out.

  “Get in line.” Drake snorted and muttered.

  They were silent. Drake stood putting his empty bottle in the bin by the side of the fridge. “Want another beer?”

  “I’m good.” Oliver waved his hand.

  “Okay so I’ve told you my life story, mind telling me now who this mystery visitor is arriving at this bloody hour?” He popped the bottle open.

  Oliver’s mouth quirked to one side.

  “I already told you.”

  Drake shook his head. “Sorry, nothing’s sticking to my brain right now.”

  Oliver stretched from his seat giving a satisfied grunt. “If everything happens according to plan, it’ll be Andrew Tabler.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

  Drake and Oliver heard the sound of the engine before the Range Rover appeared at the mouth of the hangar.

  The vehicle came to a complete stop before Vincent got out and pulled someone out of the back seat. Chaps and Malcolm climbed down next.

  “Fuck me sideways,” Drake exhaled, stunned.

  “No thanks.” A sardonic smile curled Oliver’s lips

  “What the fuck are you doing to me?�
�� Andrew gave Vincent a withering glare. Vincent grunted and pulled Andrew’s arm harder. Pain flashed through Andrew’s face, but he refused to talk.

  “Is he really like that?” Oliver angled his head closer to Drake, his arms folded over his chest. “He’s getting his arse kicked all the way to Uranus and still has that hoity-toity vibe going?”

  “Never knew a hard day in his life.” Drake shrugged. Fury colder than a frozen tundra slowly slithered through his veins. His palms itched and his knuckles cracked and heated at the thought of smacking off righteous indignation from Andrew’s face. If that cocky bastard still believed he was above the law, he had another thing coming.

  “Easy mate, you don’t need to die today.” Oliver smirked.

  Drake slid a scowl at his friend. “Who says I’m gonna die?”

  “Says the colour of your face like you’re unable to breathe and that giant worm of a vein on your neck. Looks like it’s about to explode.”

  “I’m fine.” Drake gritted.

  “Take it from me, Rosen.” Oliver exhaled but his eyes narrowed watching Andrew continued to berate Vincent. “It’s not worth it.”

  Drake didn’t bother to retort. Up until that time, Andrew hadn’t seen them. Vincent dragged Andrew to a chair ordering him to sit.

  “Make me.” Andrew sneered.

  Vincent placed his large hands on Andrew’s shoulders and forced him on the chair as though Andrew was some sort of cement drill.

  Belatedly, Drake noticed Oliver move. He followed. The SUV still hid them from Andrew’s view. Drake didn’t understand why Oliver decided to interrogate Andrew in open air when they could have used the interrogation room where Caius had been several hours before.

  Caius, a blubbering mass of failure and crime, had been handed over to Oliver’s contact in the Joint Money Laundering Intelligence Taskforce. It was another thorn on Drake’s side which he resigned himself to. Because of what Caius had done, his gym would have to be investigated. He couldn’t prevent the Taskforce from looking into his business accounts to trace when Andrew’s plan to use the gym to launder money to assist terrorism began. But with the solid evidence Oliver uncovered and help from a most unlikely person, Charles Tabler, investigating the gym, hopefully, wouldn’t take too long.

  Drake couldn’t hold out any longer. It was time for that chat with Jimmy and the rest of the fighters. They had a right to know.

  But first thing was first.

  Vincent stood in front of Andrew unperturbed at the derogatory words his prisoner let fly. Andrew was too preoccupied at trying to put the snipper down that he didn’t notice Oliver and Drake approaching until it was too late.

  “You!” Andrew’s angry but futile gestures slackened. Drake saw the tremors course through Andrew’s limbs, the sudden shaking of Andrew’s fingers and the voice that sounded as though he had been placed in an oil drum packed with ice. “I knew it! You’re behind all of this! All the lies you told my dad.”

  “I haven’t even met your father,” Drake snapped.

  “They aren’t lies.” Oliver spoke.

  Andrew’s dark brows pulled to a frown. “Who the fuck are you?”

  “I’d like to say your worst nightmare but…I’ll be the dream you’ll look for in the place where you’re going.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Think of it as a surprise.”

  Initial confusion glimmered in Andrew’s eyes before it disappeared. He huffed, glaring at Drake. “And you believe what Drake Rosen says? He was expelled from school.”

  Oliver ‘tsked’ and looked at his men. “See, this is what I don’t get. Why do people always have to bring up the past? I mean,” he turned to Andrew, “is your arse much nicer looking than your face?”

  Again Andrew gave them a vacant look before the insinuation dawned. He reddened. Wriggling his way off his seat, he fell sideways causing the foot of the chair to spike Vincent’s foot. Vincent swore.

  “You hurt my big toe!” Vincent roared close to Andrew’s ear. “Major, he hurt my big toe!”

  “Let him go, Spassky.” Oliver ordered quietly but even Drake couldn’t stop the tingle of apprehension he felt at his friend’s voice.

  Vincent let go with a sour face, pushing the chair that it screeched against the floor.

  He had to hand it to Tabler. The man was fit. His shirt and slacks looked like clothes Drake would have considered as part of his own wardrobe. His face had lost the chubbiness of youth deflating into an angular face. But the cruel sneer Drake remembered so well was there. There wasn’t an inch of remorse on Andrew’s pathetic mug.

  Chaps walked to the table where Drake and Oliver had just been, took one of the chairs and gave it to Oliver. Oliver nodded his thanks before turning the chair around. He sat with his arms resting on the back of the chair.

  “Mr Tabler, do you know why you’re here?”

  “Because you’re a bunch of dickheads hired by my father to teach me a lesson?” Andrew derided. “You touch one hair on my head like your dumbass giant here and you won’t know what’s coming to get you.”

  Instead of getting angry, Vincent chortled. Andrew scowled casting a side glance but didn’t retort.

  “Oh you mean the jihadists you’ve been helping smuggle guns into the country?” Oliver looked at his fingers, flicking some dirt underneath his nail.

  Drake inhaled sharply. He swivelled his gaze between Oliver and Andrew.

  “What the fuck?”

  He saw Andrew pale.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “C’mon, you think we don’t know what you’ve been up to?” Oliver cajoled his voice wintry. “You’ve been under surveillance for a very long time, Mr Tabler. From the moment you made contact with one of the terrorist bagmen in Casino de Monte-Carlo.”

  “I just met him at the tables! How the hell would I know he was a terrorist?” Andrew snapped.

  “See, right there, you’ve already given yourself away. Malcolm, if you please.” Oliver turned to the former sergeant.

  “Suh!” Malcolm handed him a folder.

  Oliver took out the contents and let the photos glide to the floor. Drake couldn’t believe the pictures he saw of Andrew in Monte-Carlo to Karachi, from Macau to Las Vegas. Andrew met with same man who was the same as Andrew’s height and wore understated but expensive suits. The man’s eyes were always covered in sunglasses. Finally, Oliver took out the picture where a bag of money was being given to Andrew.

  “That man is only known as Suleiman Furqhan,” Oliver said.

  “That’s not his name.” For the first time Andrew relaxed. “You’ve got nothing on me and if I was with him, he sure isn’t a terrorist. He was investing with me.”

  Oliver’s lips twitched.

  “He has other names. Perhaps you know him as Abdul Haran Homani.”

  Andrew tensed.

  “Hmm…looks like you do.” Oliver remarked. “Homani has been funding the terrorist cells across the globe but I’m sure you already knew that considering you’ve been seen with him for over a decade.”

  Andrew’s eyes flashed.

  “I’m also going to assume that Homani wanted you to look for a vehicle he could use to launder money into the country.”

  “Fuck you.”

  Oliver snorted. “I can always ask Spassky to find some willing men if you’re leaning towards that side.”

  Andrew’s lips thinned with suppressed rage.

  “What I don’t understand is why a gym of all things?” Oliver murmured deep in thought. “And why Caius?”

  “He came to me,” Andrew replied crisply.

  “Andrew, Andrew, Andrew…” Oliver shook his head. “Seriously man, I would start telling the truth if I were you. You’ve been found out, Tabler. I have to hand it to you, you do have some brain cells between your ears.”

  “What’s this, resorting to insults now?”

  Oliver’s bantering tone was gone. “Why the gym?”

 
Andrew crossed his arms. “It was the collateral Harvey gave me.”

  “Why Drake’s gym?”

  Andrew glared, tight lipped.

  “Tabler…”

  Vincent cracked his knuckles and the sound echoed through the open space.

  Andrew’s ears perked at the sound but didn’t turn around.

  “Why else would I choose Rosen’s gym? He’s not fit to be successful.”

  Oliver’s forehead scrunched. “Say that again?”

  “Oh come on man! If you knew where he came from you wouldn’t even want to be seen with him.”

  Oliver’s neck jerked, visibly startled.

  Drake’s jaw tightened. It took everything in him to hold still.

  “And just where did I come from?” He put one step forward. Oliver’s arm shot up sideways stopping him.

  “You came from nothing!” Andrew sneered. “Anyone not born to wealth ˗˗˗”

  “Doesn’t deserve it?” Oliver smiled thinly. “I know your kind. All entitlement. No matter between the ears.”

  “Is this hooy for real?” Vincent was incredulous.

  Malcolm reddened, fuming.

  Chaps looked away shaking his head.

  Drake didn’t know what to think, what to feel. It was anti-climactic, no different from entering the cage, pumped up to fight, only to be told his opponent was a no show. Andrew went beyond belief. All of his efforts to destroy Drake stemmed from a past and festered like an infected wound that refused to heal. It was left to Drake to fix after Andrew.

  “Bloody hell, man. That’s some grudge.” Oliver’s face was hard.

  “So what next? Beat me to a pulp because Drake has all of you as back up?” Andrew barked a laugh as he looked at Drake.

  “You’ll be charged with money laundering and terrorism.” Oliver stated unfurling his body from the chair.

  “You’re a piece of shit.” Andrew lashed at Drake.

  “At least I shit gold bricks.” Drake said sardonically. “You, you had to get your hands on blood money just to prop yourself up.”