Still it was done now, he guessed. Daniel had finally told his family about him. Which, in a way, could only be a good thing, Sam supposed. At least now he knew that Daniel must be a little bit serious about their relationship. He must care about Sam more than he let on if he’d just come out to his entire family.
‘My sister’s a cunt,’ Daniel said, his words coming out in a slur. Glad that he’d put the stupid cow in her place. He was sick of Nancy always looking down her nose at him. Treating him like he was nothing. When the truth was Daniel was more like his old man than any of them.
Especially Nancy.
‘That she may be,’ Sam said, not entirely agreeing, but going along with Daniel so that he didn’t cause yet another argument between them both. ‘But your poor nan and your mum. They both looked so shocked. Could you not have broken it more gently to them?’
‘They’ll get over it.’ Daniel shrugged, too drunk to care what his nan and his mother thought about him.
‘Where are we going now? Back to mine?’ Sam said hopefully.
He and Daniel had hardly spent any time together lately and he understood that Daniel needed his space, what with everything that had happened in recent weeks. Losing his father the way he did and now trying to help run all the businesses. A selfish part of Sam just wanted Daniel back the way he’d been when they’d first got together. Before Daniel had started drinking excessively and disappearing off out all the time without him.
‘Nah, later maybe. I’ve got some business to sort out first. You coming? Or you want to go back inside with that lot of fucking loons?’ Daniel asked raising his eyes back towards the house.
Sam laughed then, despite himself.
‘Course I’m coming. Here, let me drive. You’re off your bloody head,’ he said, running around and getting into the driver’s seat, taking Daniel up on his offer, before his boyfriend changed his mind.
Daniel Byrne had no idea that he was the biggest fucking loon of them all.
Chapter Seventeen
Pulling up down one of the side roads just behind Drayton Gardens in Camden, Sam Miles turned off the ignition as the two men sat in silence. Staring up at the grey concrete-looking council estate, the place looked every bit as depressing as Sam imagined it would be to live there.
He watched as a group of young lads all poured out of the main front door of the building, not bothering to move out of the way so that an elderly lady was forced to press herself up against the wall to let the boys all pass her. They stood there, eyeing up Daniel’s motor.
‘Fucking hell. I’m glad we aren’t getting out. We’d only come back to find those lot have pinched our car stereo!’
‘The stereo would be the least of your worries around here, Sam,’ Daniel said, reminding himself that Sam Miles had a lot to learn. Despite the fact that they’d both came from wealthy backgrounds, his boyfriend had lived a somewhat sheltered life. Living over in affluent Chelsea with his rich parents. He had no idea about the poverty and survival of living in a run-down council estate. How could he? He’d come from a stable, loving family. Unlike Daniel, who knew the score when it came to dealing with the more sordid parts of the city. His father was a gangster, it didn’t get much darker and seedier than that. ‘See those fuckers there, they’d take your motor for a joyride and then torch the thing just to fucking spite you,’ Daniel said, eyeing the group so that they knew he wasn’t intimidated by them.
If you didn’t live in Drayton Gardens then you had no reason in being here, and the gangs that patrolled the communal grounds and gardens were all now standing around and taking a keen interest in the two men sitting in the fancy-looking Beamer.
Though Daniel Byrne wasn’t just anyone.
These fuckers would learn that the hard way if they tried any funny business with him.
‘Fucking scrotes the lot of them. Giving us the stares.’
Sam nodded in agreement, though Daniel’s words were starting to unnerve him. This grimy estate was worlds apart from the London he was accustomed to. He looked up at the rows of washing streaming from the windows and balconies, the groups of youths that huddled in the doorway smoking gear and drinking out of cans, threatening and intimidating every person that passed them as if it was some kind of a game.
And the rubbish. There were bits of it strewn everywhere. Stinking nappies. Half-eaten kebabs.
Sam wrinkled his nose in distaste and was glad when the man that Daniel was waiting for finally came out through the main doors and approached the car.
Sam just wanted to get the fuck out of here.
‘All right, lads,’ Jenson Reed said before staring up and down the street, making sure that there were no Old Bill about. That lot were about as discreet as a poke in the eye with a sharp stick. Seeing the coast was clear he leant down on the open window of the driver’s side and peered in at Daniel.
‘Fancy fucking motor this, must have cost you a mint.’
‘Yeah it did, so get your fucking grubby mitts off the fucking paintwork, yeah!’ Daniel said, leaning over Sam and swatting Jenson’s hand away from his pristine motor. This car was Daniel’s pride and joy. The only reason Sam was driving it was because he was too drunk.
‘All right, mate, keep your hair on.’ Jenson grinned, throwing his hands up in one swift exaggerated movement.
Daniel smarted.
Jenson Reed.
So this was the main dealer that Gem was using at The Karma Club to dish out their shit. Jenson Reed must have been at least a decade older than Daniel, though you wouldn’t have thought it the way the man was dressed. In his cheap Adidas tracksuit, and bright white high top trainers, baseball cap tilted on the side of his head, the man was a walking, talking cliché. He was putting on an accent, too. Trying to sound more street than he actually was. A proper wide boy.
He’d only set sights on him for a few minutes and already the man was instantly rubbing Daniel up the wrong way. Acting far too familiar and far too cocky for his liking.
According to Gem, though, Jenson had worked on the doors of London’s biggest nightclubs and the man had a list of loyal punters the length of the dingy fucking tower block behind him. The bloke shifted a shit tonne of gear, according to Gem, so for now Daniel would go along with the plan.
For now anyway.
Eventually, Daniel would be running the show himself. He’d find a way to cut Gem Kemal out, too.
‘So you’ve got some gear for me, have you?’ Jenson said, glancing at his watch as if he had better places to be.
‘Oh, sorry. Are we inconveniencing you? You got somewhere more important you need to be, do you?’ Daniel said, raising his eyes. Indignant at the disrespect this fucker was showing him.
‘I have as it happens. I’ve got a right tasty little bird waiting for me. You know the score…’ Jenson winked at Daniel, and something in the bloke’s demeanour told Daniel that Jenson was actually making a dig at him. As if he’d heard the rumours about his father being gay, and he was being sarcastic.
The little prick wouldn’t be brave enough or stupid enough to pull a stunt like that though, surely?
‘Here.’ Daniel leant over and passed Jenson the bag of gear that he’d just picked up from Gem’s contacts over in Islington, a shady-looking Turkish gang, dealing all sorts out the back of one of the kebab shops on Islington High Street.
‘Fuck me, Daniel. You’re taking a risk, ain’t you? Picking this lot up and delivering it to me personally? Your old man used his lackeys for all that.’
‘That’s all well and good, Jenson. But you see, unlike my old man, I like to make sure everything’s done to exact precision. There’s no room for fuck-ups. This way, there’s fewer of us involved,’ Daniel explained, realising that Jenson wasn’t much better than the scummy Turks he’d just dealt with. He’d gone from one bunch of fucking dregs to another, he thought, eyeing the state of Jenson Reed.
Jenson didn’t appear to notice. He was too interested in the bag of pills that Daniel Byrne had just h
anded him. Nodding approvingly at the contents, he smirked.
‘About fucking time too. I’m always getting asked for Special K and Es. I got a lot of people interested in this lot. We’ll make an absolute killing.’
Daniel nodded. The bloke was a prize prick, but that was just what he wanted to hear.
‘I get a little taster out of this lot, don’t I? Gotta do a bit of quality control before I start dishing the shit out.’
Daniel pursed his mouth, taking in the way that Jenson was grinding his teeth, his pupils huge. The bloke looked as if he was already off his face.
‘Aint you had enough? Fucking hell, are you some kind of cunt or what? Talk about fucking unprofessional. This is a fucking massive deal we have going down. One on which you stand to make a good amount of profit. I don’t want you off your fucking tits tonight. Do you understand? Sort yourself out!’
Jenson grinned. ‘Oh, you don’t need to worry about me, mate. This stuff don’t even touch me these days. I’ve become immune to it all,’ he said unconvincingly.
‘Yeah, well you won’t be used to this shit. It’s supposed to be the best out there. Potent shit, but worth every penny. Don’t fuck this up.’ Dealers were the lowest of the low as far as Daniel was concerned. Just as bad as the druggies and addicts. All of them slaves of their poison.
‘Touchy!’ Jenson sneered, not showing Daniel Byrne that he was one bit bothered by the man. He knew who he was, of course he did. Jimmy Byrne’s son.
But who the fuck was Daniel, eh?
Jenson had never even heard the bloke’s name until recently. Yet here he was, acting the big bollocks because of who his father had been, only, Daniel didn’t scare him. Not one bit. Jenson was the real soldier here. Working out on the front line, dealing directly with the punters that came into the club.
‘You know what, Daniel, you should try a couple of these too, you know. They might help you lighten the fuck up. You on the rag or something?’
‘Fuck off, Jenson, you prick,’ Daniel said, refusing to bite. Right now he could happily get out of the car and lamp the guy one.
‘Right, we done here, Daniel?’ Sensing the row that was brewing, Sam started the engine. Daniel had been so volatile lately, who knew what the man was capable of if someone tipped him over the edge – which, right now, was exactly the way that Jenson was heading.
‘Yeah, we’re done,’ Daniel sneered. ‘Just do your fucking job, Jenson. Sell the gear, and don’t be fucking obvious about it when Alfie Harris is around, do you get me?’
Jenson nodded. He wasn’t going to say jack shit to anyone. Not with the money that he stood to make from this little lot.
‘Whatever you say, “boss?’’’ Jenson grinned now. ‘Though I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes when Alfie Harris finds out that you are dishing out pills in his club. He’ll go mental.’
‘I ain’t distributing pills. You are. So let’s hope he don’t get to fucking hear about it. Now fuck off, away from the motor,’ Daniel said finally, nodding to Sam that they were done here.
Placing the package in the inside pocket of his jacket, Jenson stuck his fingers up at the car as it sped off into the distance. Instantly taking a dislike to that stuck-up prat, Daniel Byrne, he half hoped that the man would catch sight of him in his rear-view mirror.
That would be funny; Daniel and his sidekick trying to chase him all around the estate. He’d have to catch him first. Jenson couldn’t help but smile to himself as he made his way to his bird’s house so that they could both test out some of his new merchandise.
Despite his prick of a boss to contend with, today was turning out to be a good day indeed.
Chapter Eighteen
‘Good evening, young ladies!’ Standing at the main doors of The Karma Club, Jenson Reed grinned at his choice of words. Young being the operative, he thought to himself as he eyed the two girls in front of him, tottering up the steps in ridiculously high heels that they could barely walk in. These two wouldn’t look amiss wearing school uniforms, he thought with a wicked smirk.
Still that didn’t stop these girls trying their luck to get in by dressing older than they actually were. And boy had they both made an effort. All dolled up, in revealing clothes and faces full of badly applied make-up. It was almost comical how girls still didn’t seem to cotton on to the fact that the harder they tried the more obvious they looked.
‘Embryos in Wonderbras.’ That’s what Jenson and the other doormen at the club referred to girls like these two. In fact they probably didn’t have much they could offer to even a Wonderbra. They were probably still padding their tops out with tissue paper.
Bless ’em! Still, he had to give it to them for at least having the nerve to try and get past the doormen. His boss had a strict photo ID-only policy on the door but, in all fairness, as long as they passed his inspection Jenson wasn’t that fussed if a few younger girls tried their luck getting in. In fact, if his new potential customers just happened to be pretty, young girls, he certainly wasn’t going to be turning them away. For him it was yet another perk of the job.
Give him a young dumb girl any day of the week, unlike older birds that were a bit more clued up, and didn’t stand for any bullshit from blokes like Jenson. The younger girls were naive as shit.
‘I take it you both have some form of photo ID on you?’ Jenson smirked, wondering how far he could go with this.
‘We’re both eighteen. I’ve got ID. I can prove it.’ The taller of the two girls, Amber Richards, stepped forward confidently, putting on her most convincing display of being pissed off at having to prove her age. As she reached into her clutch bag for the ID card that she’d been hoping not to have to use, she pouted stroppily as she placed it in the doorman’s hand. ‘Happy now?’
Wrinkling his nose as he examined the photo card, Jenson was trying his hardest not to laugh. He prided himself on being able to spot a good fake from a mile off and this one was so bad that he doubted it would even fool a fucking blind person. Staring down at the photo, Jenson guessed that the girl was about fifteen. Sixteen, tops. Though the date of birth said different.
He looked back at them both.
Pretty girls. Really pretty. Even with their faces caked in dodgy make-up.
Jenson shook his head in wonderment. Christ! It was no wonder some men were so easily duped these days. These young girls all passing themselves off as over eighteen. Swanning about the clubs half dressed, letting men old enough to be their fathers buy them drinks and God knows what else – but the moment they had sex with someone, everyone made a big deal about the men being out of order. If anyone was getting played, it was the fellas.
These girls knew exactly what they were doing. Conniving as fuck.
That’s why Jenson didn’t feel bad about the way he treated half of them. Why should he? The girls were going to go after some poor unsuspecting fucker, it may as well be him. At least he’d make sure he got something out of it in return.
Handing Amber’s ID back to her, Jenson eyed the other girl. She looked younger, and not nearly as confident as the first girl.
‘And what about you?’ he asked, raising his brow questioningly. ‘You got some ID, too, have you?’
Megan Harris nodded. Unable to find any words, she was shitting herself now. Praying that none of the doormen would recognise her face. Trust Amber not to mention the fact that it would be The Karma Club where they were meeting up with her new boyfriend tonight. She’d waited until the taxi had dropped them off down the road to break that bit of news to Megan. When it was too bloody late for Megan to protest about it, unless she fancied traipsing halfway across London on her own.
Praying no one on the door recognised her, she diverted her gaze and looked at Amber instead, but she guessed rightly that it only made her appear even more nervous.
She could have killed her friend now.
Amber said they’d have no problem getting in here tonight. That they’d both just slip past the doormen unnoticed. That Reece Bettl
e had squared it with his mate, but Megan wasn’t so sure now. Amber had spun her a right line, convincing her that, after sorting out their fake IDs for them both and plastering her in so much make-up she felt as if she was wearing a mask, they would get past the bouncers without any trouble. Her hair felt tight and awkward on top of her head, twisted up into a tight bun. Amber had told her that she looked more sophisticated now, only Megan wasn’t convinced.
‘Go, on, Olivia,’ Amber said, nudging her friend’s arm as she used the fake name that was written on the ID card. ‘Show him your ID.’
Rummaging around for it in her bag, Megan realised that her hands were shaking. Part of her wanted to say that she’d lost it, or left it at home. Any excuse to save them both from the humiliation of this bouncer sending them both away while an entire queue of people stood behind them watching.
Megan knew that she couldn’t do that though. Amber was counting on her to get in tonight. She’d had her boyfriend, Reece Bettle, make the ID cards up for them especially. He’d promised her that they were good copies, too. That they’d have no problems getting in; though, watching the way that the doorman’s eyes had scanned Amber’s card, his gaze lingering on the small print as he tried to work out her age, Megan wondered whether Amber’s new boyfriend had stitched them both up.
If the doorman wasn’t convinced by Amber’s fake ID, he’d be even less convinced by Megan’s. Hers had a fake name on it, too, and she had forgotten what her surname was supposed to be. Olivia something. Western or was it Westport? Shit! She couldn’t remember.
How she had let Amber talk her into this, she’d never know.
‘Here.’ Handing it over, Megan made a conscious effort to steady her hand as she shot a worried look at her friend.
The two girls waited then, as the bouncer’s gaze flickered to and from the ID cards and then back to both the girls, eyeing them both with scrutiny.
The Broken_A gripping thriller that will have you on the edge of your seat Page 13
