by Lucy Wild
"All right," he said, wincing as he held his hands in front of his face. "All right, anything you want."
I picked the knife up off the floor, wiping my cheek with the back of my hand. I said nothing else, I turned and opened the front door, heading outside.
I collected the briefcase and then made my way to the bank. On my way in I passed by a man on his phone who gave me a single look of disgust before looking away. The blood was still dripping from my cheek and the staff turned to look at me in shock as I shoved the door open.
Wes looked up from the couple he was talking to and his smile faded. "Excuse me a moment," he said, crossing the floor in seconds. He got me around the shoulder and said loudly, "Can you please step outside, Sir?"
Once we were back through the doors, he shoved me around the corner into an alleyway. "You're going to have to learn to a bit more subtle," he said, looking me up and down. "I take it you're done."
I nodded, looking up to see one of the bank clerks standing on the corner peering round at us. She had a phone pressed to her ear.
"I'll deal with her," Wes said, passing me a business card. "You did well, John. Delaney's a tough cookie."
"What's this?" I asked, waving the card.
"You go see him. Tell him I sent you."
"But who is he?"
"You're rough around the edges but you'll learn. He'll teach you."
"What about my money?"
"It'll be in your account by the end of the day. Now get moving."
He walked away. I heard him speaking to the clerk as they headed back towards the bank. "No need for an ambulance," he was saying. "Just a scrape, that's all. He's fine."
FIVE - REBECCA
I often thought of John, his face coming unbidden to my mind, particularly during the worst of the abuse. I could see him smiling, the way he'd smiled at me when we used to play. I'd float up above myself and join him, looking down on what was happening. It wasn't happening to me that way. I watched as Mr Sharp did those things to me, made me do those things to him. John would tap me on the shoulder and tell me it would be okay. I wished I could believe him.
The first days were simply awful. I'd come so close to being rescued and then the chance was snatched away from me. Sharp was furious, not because John was dead but because he hadn't had chance to interrogate him first. He tried with me, beating me until I talked. I said little, no matter how much pain he inflicted on me. I was used to pain from life with Louis. But when he broke my fingers I told him we were friends, that we'd known each other from childhood. "How did he find out you were here?" he asked as I screamed in pain, holding my hand to try and stop the bones scraping together.
"I don't know." I sobbed.
I wept often at first, it made no difference, it was the way things were. I gave up crying in the end.
After that first talk, he never mentioned John to me but I heard the name once when Sharp was on the phone. He received a call while he was in the middle of whipping me. Usually, I'd be shoved into another room while he talked to his people but he'd spent ten minutes tying me to his bed in the most elaborate ways, rope around my neck making it hard to breathe which seemed to excite him more. When his phone rang, he looked at me and then said, "Don't go anywhere."
He answered it a second later and I listened closely, glad of a reprieve from the pain, no matter how short. I couldn't hear the person at the other end but I remember vividly how I felt when I heard John's name mentioned. "John can't be alive," Sharp said. "He fell out of the fucking window."
Listening to the other person, he shifted, pacing across the room until he started shouting. "I don't care about that. Deal with him and do it quickly. Wear the bodycam though, I want to see it. Do me a favour and make him suffer."
SIX - JOHN
William Adams. That was what it said on the card. I wasn't even sure why I was going to see him. The money would be in my account by the end of the day. I could withdraw it with the card and head back to London, find myself a suitable weapon and then track down Mr Sharp and Louis, the two scumbags.
But something told me there was a catch. I got the feeling that the money might not stay in my account very long if I suddenly went rogue. Then I'd be back to square one with nothing to show for it but a trip to Scotland.
I had enough in cash to get a taxi but I chose to walk. There was a chance the cab would have CCTV and I didn't want my face captured in case Delaney decided to go to the police with a description of his attacker. I didn't think he would but it was better to play it safe.
It was getting late by the time I got there. Twenty-five, Juniper Place. There was the sign for Juniper Place, a dead end street of semi-detached houses. Nothing special.
I didn't hear him coming but something told me to be careful. Maybe it was a movement out of the corner of my eye. I had just turned the corner when someone leapt out from behind a hedge with a blade aimed straight at me. I managed to stagger away and it cut through the air where my face had been a second before.
I tripped over the curb and fell. The man with the knife was coming at me again. I put my hand up to stop him and the point of the blade went straight through it. I roared with pain, tugging my hand away. He kept hold of the handle which meant he came with it, stumbling on top of me.
I got in a kick but then his fists were slamming into my face. I felt something crunch, probably my nose, then I was losing my vision. I blinked as I tried to fight him but I was too tired to be much use.
I saw a blurred fist rising, ready to slam into my head and end this. Then out of nowhere, he vanished. Just like he'd never been there. I looked up. He was on his side a few feet away, unconscious. Standing next to him was another man dressed in a black suit, looking for all the world like something was terribly amusing. "Are you William Adams?" I asked, spitting out blood as I got slowly to my feet.
"Who's asking?"
"John Ward. Wes sent me."
"You're the new guy?" He took a step towards me, looking at the knife still sticking through my palm. "We better deal with that. Come with me."
"What about him?"
"He won't dare come onto my street, don't worry. Now let's move."
I followed him along the pavement. Looking back, I saw the man who'd attacked me was moving slightly, coming to.
"You're lucky I was watching out for you," William said. "How's your hand?"
"Stings."
"It's about to hurt a lot more."
He pushed open a gate and walked up the path to a front door. Pushing it open, he motioned for me to follow him in.
A minute later I was sitting in his kitchen as he slowly pulled the knife out of my hand. I winced but managed not to cry out despite the pain making me dizzy. I did cry out when he poured antiseptic on the wound.
"Wait there," he said, leaving me alone. I looked at the kitchen. No photos on the fridge, nothing on the surfaces. He was clearly a tidy guy.
He returned with a first aid kit. "Keep still," he said as he began sewing stitches across my hand. "You're not going to want to use it for a few days if you want it to heal."
"Fine by me."
"I'm guessing you want to know why you're here?"
"I was wondering."
"I used to work for Carl, until I went freelance. Now I'm what you might call a personal trainer."
"Like in a gym?"
"Sort of, except I train you to kill, not to get six pack abs."
"You train people to kill?"
"You sound surprised."
"I am."
"There, how's that?"
I looked down at my hand, the wound looked a lot better. The skin was swollen and reddened but the gaping wound was held closed by the stitches. When I looked up, he was pouring out a couple of drinks, passing one to me. "Whiskey," he said. "Best thing after a fight."
"I prefer vodka."
He laughed. "What are you, fifteen?"
"How did you know?"
"I notice things. Let me guess. No parents. You'
ve lived on the streets for a while. Carl saw you fighting and hired you. The fire that burned your hands was in the last six months. You've no weapon on you and in a straight fight, you have a weak left hand. Am I right?"
"Pretty much. How the hell did you-?"
"I'll show you in time. First of all, let's go through and sit somewhere more comfortable. Bring that towel, I don't want you bleeding on my sofa."
I followed him through to a lounge. It was as sterile as the kitchen. There was a white sofa and two armchairs. I took a chair and he sat on the sofa, crossing his feet at the ankle before examining me closely. "What's your name?"
"John Ward."
"Why did he send you to Edinburgh?"
I gave him the quick version of what had happened since I'd caught the train. When I was done, he poured me another drink.
"I can see why Wes sent you. Delaney is no lightweight. You managed to get him on the floor?"
I nodded.
"But you didn't see our friend coming this evening?"
"I saw something but-"
Not fast enough. No matter. By the time I'm finished with you, there won't be a man in this country who ever come that close to doing you any damage. All you have to do is agree to work harder than you ever have before. Reckon you're up for it?"
I thought of Mr Sharp laying in the gutter like the man at the end of the street. "Definitely," I said, my voice as cold as his.
SEVEN - REBECCA
I saw the same footage he did. The screen had been set up deliberately so I had to watch. He sat me on the sofa and he took the armchair so he could look from the screen to me and back again. The bodycam footage had come through his computer and he'd hooked it up to show on the big screen. It started with nothing but leaves. "Hiding in a hedge," Sharp said. "Keep watching. You'll get to see your friend die for a second time, not everyone gets to do that. Should be fun."
I felt a deep sinking sense of dread. I'd barely had chance to process the fact that John was alive. He had survived the fall into the river far below the flat. I had no idea how he had made it or what had happened since. But someone had found him and told Sharp, probably the same someone who was about to attack him as the footage moved out of the hedge and leapt towards a figure in the distance.
It was a suburban street, just normal houses, nothing special. There was John. I saw him for the briefest of seconds before the struggle began. The man wearing the camera lunged at him with a knife. Sharp cheered but then John slipped backwards, tripping over the curb and falling. I gasped as the knife plunged through the middle of his hand. "How does it feel?" Sharp asked, glancing at me, "seeing that?"
I said nothing, he was already looking at the screen again, seeing John getting pummelled to the face, one punch after another crunching into him. I couldn't look. I closed my eyes, opening them only when Sharp said, "What the fuck?"
All of a sudden, the footage was of the sky, the man was flying backwards, landing heavily. A face appeared above him and then Sharp was on his feet, saying, "Come on," to me. "We're leaving."
He was on the phone a second later, hurriedly shoving things into a bookcase. "He's back," he said. "I don't know how but he's back. France probably. It'll do for now. Get the helicopter organised. Find out exactly where Vinnie is and send as many as you can up there. I don't care what it costs. If he's back then we're all fucked unless we deal with this now. Her? I'll take her with me. Ring me back in ten minutes. Oh and tell them to be careful. He took Vinnie out in under a minute."
He hung up before turning to me. He looked scared. "Put your shoes on. We're going."
EIGHT - JOHN
Every day was painful beyond anything I'd ever known. William had warned that he was going to push me but I went to bed each night with every muscle in my body aching. We ran, we boxed, we fenced, we swam. He kicked me again and again until I could absorb the blows without flinching. He taught me how to sweep a room, how to move quietly, how to blend into a crowd.
"Remind me why we're doing this," I said as I tried not to throw up after a five mile run that was more sprinting than anything else.
"Because Carl needs an enforcer."
That was what I was supposed to become. Of course, in the end, things went very differently but I didn't know that at the time. All I knew was that each day was making me stronger, faster, fitter.
Whenever things got tough, I only had to think of her, of the look on her face when our fingers touched, to keep me moving, to give me a fresh burst of energy.
I slept in the spare room at William's house. On the bedside cabinet I kept her necklace. It was the last thing I saw each night and the first thing I saw every morning. I was doing this for her. I was getting stronger for her. I would get revenge for her. Once I felt I was trained up enough, I would walk away, get the train back to London and find her captors. It wouldn't matter how well guarded they were. It wouldn't matter where they were. I would find them eventually, I knew that as I knew that the sun would rise each morning.
At night, my muscles aching beyond belief, I would sleep deeply. In that sleep I would often dream of her, the long locked away memories breaking free from their captivity and coming floating back to the surface once again.
I often dreamed of the times we played together. I grew up in a slum building in the poorest part of Tower Hamlets. In the block of flats where I lived, there was little to make anyone smile. But I had her.
She was a neighbour, of sorts. Her family were on the same floor. I could picture it perfectly in my head. Open my door, ignore the drunken yelling of my mother and whoever was in there that week. Step outside onto the concrete walkway. Walk down a few feet, past the squat, past the smashed window. Then around the corner. More often than not she was there, getting away from her parents, sitting alone and waiting for me.
We made our own games. Five years sitting together on that walkway. We were the same age. I only knew I was six when we met because she told me. She had been in the flat all her life, had never been down to the ground floor, never been outside. Social services didn't even know she existed. We were forgotten people.
We would play little games together. We even invented our own sign language. That way, no one heard us, no one came investigating the sound of children playing. We did it without words. A finger up, time for hide and seek. A flick of the wrist, let's be spacemen. It was the happiest time of my life, playing with her. She was the only good thing in my life. The only pure thing. Everything else was corrupt and dirty. I went to sleep thinking of her, of running away with her. One day, we'd do it, I told her. One day we'd run away somewhere together, start a new life, somewhere no one would find us. It was a dream but it made us both smile. Our innocent little games kept us both from falling into despair at what our lives really were.
But it couldn't last. Nothing good ever lasted. My dreams would turn when I thought about that, sometimes I would wake up in a cold sweat, as if it had only just happened, the images vivid before my eyes.
We were ten. Her father, the useless drug addict that he was, came out of the flat and grinned at her, showing his missing teeth. "I've just made us a fortune," he said, leaning down and kissing her forehead. "And it's all thanks to you, Rebecca."
I had sunk into the shadows. We had been caught together a couple of times and it hadn't ended well. The bruises took a long time to fade.
Neither of us knew what he meant but we found out the next day. I had woken up to find my mother slumped on the sofa in the lounge. I kicked through the empty cans on the floor next to her and found a slice of pizza left in the box from last night. It served a more decent breakfast than I often got. I headed out the door, hoping Rebecca was out there.
She emerged from her flat just as I stepped out but she wasn't alone. She was gripped by the hand by a tall sallow man with greasy hair. The man took one look at me, decided at once that I wasn't a threat and then looked away again.
Rebecca was muttering something, her eyes glazed over. What had she been giv
en? I knew that look, it was the one my mother got when she had a fresh dose.
Rebecca's father was standing in the doorway looking out. "Enjoy her," he said, grinning wickedly.
"I intend to," the man replied.
I didn't know what was happening but I knew it wasn't good. I ran at the man, tried to grab Rebecca's hand, pull her away from him. "Wake up," I begged. "Come on, Bex, wake up."
The man picked me up by the scruff of the neck and threw me backwards along the walkway. "Keep your hands off my property," he said before turning and walking away. I went to run after him but Rebecca's father got a punch into my gut and I was left gasping for air, unable to do anything but stagger. He laughed as he shut the door on my face, the laugh echoed by the man walking away with Rebecca. I tried to go after him but I fell and by the time I was up, she was gone down the stairs.
I ran, desperate to catch up. I saw them in the stairwell, pushing open the door to a waiting car. I got to it as it screeched away, leaving me standing screaming her name.
That would be when I woke up, with the car driving away and me left without my only friend, the only good thing in my life gone.
So I kept training. I did everything William told me to. When he decided it was time for martial arts training, I nodded. When he showed me how to conceal a gun and draw it faster than my opponent, I copied him. When he demonstrated using wire to cut a throat, I committed it to memory as I did everything else.
Her being driven away. Our fingers touching. My fall from the window. The flash of the shot. Soon it would be time for payback. They didn't know what was coming.
There was one night when William got the truth out of me. He never mentioned it again and neither did I but he made me take an oath. With a drop of my blood on a piece of paper, there was my oath. He handed it to me to read. "I will not seek revenge until I am told I am ready."
"When will that be?" I asked, handing the paper back to him.
