by Imogen Wells
I decide to nip down to the shop on the first floor in desperate need of junk food after the heavy conversation this morning. I tell Scott I’ll be fine, but he just ignores me and continues to be my shadow. There’s no sign of Russ, but before I get the chance to ask where he is, he comes barrelling round the corner and almost takes me out in the process. Russ offers a quick apology, and then I walk ahead of the two guys as they have a whispered conversation before leaving them at the entrance to the shop when I enter. Thank god for that. Five minutes without my shadows, it’s bliss. I take my time in the shop and come out with a bag full of shit that will go straight on my hips, but I honestly don’t care right now.
On our way back to the lift, we pass by a waiting area displaying the latest news report. The volume is down, but the subtitles talk about the body of an unidentified man discovered in a nearby hotel, along with a photo of the man and his car. Scott slows, watching the screen for a minute, his scowl remains in place, but there is a hint of what looks like recognition in his eyes. Russ carried on walking and is now waiting at the lift for us to catch up.
“Everything okay?” he asks, as we reach him. Scott gives a signature nod, and we enter the lift.
The clock in the lift shows it’s almost 4pm, and I can’t believe how late it is already. I know that visiting time will be over soon, and I’ll have to return to an empty apartment. So, I plan on making the most of the time I have with Jamie.
Jamie helps me demolish the contents of my haul from the shop, I even bought her a couple of magazines for after I leave. I relax on the bed next to her, rubbing my bloated belly and thinking I’d escaped Jamie’s interrogation about Ryder and me, but I was a complete fool.
“Come on, Cam, dish the dirt. There’s no chance I’ll be getting any dick anytime soon.” She wriggles her eyebrows at me, and when I scowl at her, her bottom lip turns down and tilting her head, she offers me pleading, puppy dog eyes. Huffing out a sigh, I climb off the bed, feeling that I need to be walking for this conversation.
“What do you want to know, Jamie? Does he make my fanny flutter?” I smirk at her. “Yes, every time he’s in the room. Does he fuck like he looks? Duh, yep, hard and fast. Beyond that I don’t have a fucking clue,” I admit, as I spin on the spot and face her. Then I remember her slip about a guy she’s been seeing. “And anyway, it sounds like you’ve been getting plenty of dick yourself?” I say, arching a brow and placing my hands on my hips.
“Nice try but this is not about me, besides, there’s nothing to tell. I met a guy, we hooked up a few times, and that’s it, just a booty call.” In all fairness, Jamie having a booty call is not a surprise. She’s never been one to shy away from the fact she likes sex and regularly hooks up with randoms. She shrugs before getting back to me. “Don’t be dense, Cam.” She waves a dismissive hand at me.
“I’m not being dense, Jamie. I’m being realistic,” I say, defensively. “It’s not as simple as boy meets girl, blah, blah, blah. And we all live happily ever fucking after. I’m not like you. I can’t just go out and hook up, I’ve got baggage, I’m damaged goods, what man in his right mind would want me?” Finally admitting and voicing my real fears. “When I meet a man and finally fall in love, I don’t want to live a lie. I want him to know me, all of me, the good, the bad and the ugly, Jamie. But how do I do that? How do I look at the man I love and tell him the horrors of my past without that changing how he sees me?” I shake my head in shame and defeat. My gut swirls with how revealing such truths will tarnish what we have. The woman who let a man beat her, debase her, a man she bore a child to, that was innocent and was cruelly ripped from this world in punishment for her failings as a woman and mother.
“I’ve told you before, and I’ll tell you again and again until you understand. You are not broken or damaged, you’re a fighter, Cam. Any man that can’t see the beauty and strength needed to survive what you have, isn’t a man worthy of your time. I think you need to give yourself more credit, and you definitely need to give more credit to a man like Blue. And I thought we’d already established that none of what happened is your fault, so there. Stop being so fucking stubborn and self-pitying, Cam. Dig deep, whip out those big arse balls I know you have and take the risk.”
The anger at her words rises through my body, but I’m not angry at her or even what she said. I’m angry because she’s right. “You’re a bitch, you know that, right?”
“Hey, it’s my most redeeming feature.” She chuckles, “It’s also why you love me. Now get back over here and give me something I can dream about later.”
“Oh my god, Jamie, that’s just all kinds of wrong.” But I do as she asks, and for the next hour we chat and laugh like any other best friends. And that’s what she is, my best friend.
It’s almost dark by the time we arrive back at the apartment, but I’m glad I convinced the guys to stop and grab takeout on the way home. It’s been an emotional day, filled with junk food, so may as well go the whole hog.
Scott and Russ leave me at the lift, with Scott telling me that one of them will be here all night if I need them. It’s the most he’s ever spoken to me, although, he seems distracted. Which is something I’ve never seen from him before. I’m not altogether sure why, but it has beads of worry settling in my belly.
I chuck the food on the counter, and rush to the bedroom for a quick shower, needing to wash the scent of the hospital from my skin. I throw on a comfy pair of PJs before leaving the room, grabbing my kebab on the way to the lounge and settle on the sofa. I flick through the channels searching for something light-hearted, while I stuff kebab in my mouth. My phone pings with a message, picking it up from the table I’m silently hoping it’s Ryder. But it’s not, and when I open it up, my heart sinks to the very depths of despair. On the screen is a newspaper article covering the car accident that killed my mum and Faye. What the actual fuck! Some sections have been highlighted, and I scan through them as my dinner threatens a hasty reappearance.
…police attended the scene of an accident today, involving a woman and child. The child was pronounced dead at the scene, while the woman was taken to the local hospital, where she later died.
That’s not right. That can’t be right. Sean told me they died instantly. How the fuck can this be true, and why haven’t I seen this before? Why would he lie about it? My vision blurs as my brain tries to make sense of what I’m reading. I close my eyes and try to think back to that day, but my memories were hazy after the police told me our daughter was dead. I just remember pain, so much pain.
In the days that followed, Sean dealt with everything, while I drowned in unimaginable sorrow. I became the living dead; no care for myself or anything around me. As I continue to scan another section catches my eye, this one appears to be from an article a week after the first and triggers another memory.
The driver of a trunk that killed a grandmother and grandchild, has been found dead at his home. Police say that the 32-year-old man died of a single gunshot wound to his head and are asking anyone with any information to contact them on this number…
I remember reading this, but when I asked Sean, he said it wasn’t the same man, that he hung himself. I thought it was strange then, but I didn’t question it, why would I? Now, I’m questioning everything.
I search the internet for every article that mentions my mum, daughter and the accident. There is a dozen or so and all make claims that contradict each other and what I was told. I find a pad and pen in the drawer in the kitchen and make notes late into the night.
By the time I drag my arse to bed, my head is pounding, and my emotions are raw. I climb into Ryder’s bed, curling into a ball and cry until my body is spent, and I finally fall asleep.
Twenty-Four
Blue
I park a couple of streets away, walking the rest of the way to the yard. There’s no one around at this time in the morning except low-life criminals, prostitutes and the homeless. As I near the yard, any light provided by the street lamps becomes a
lmost non-existent, casting shadows perfect for hiding in. My footsteps are light as I slip through a gap in the fence, avoiding the camera over the wide-open gate. My heart rate picks up as adrenaline floods my system, but there’s something else too. The same something that’s been riding me all day; worry, fear, a bottom of the gut feeling that something isn’t right. Pushing it to the back of my mind, I push on through the yard passing container after container and checking serial numbers as I go.
Tyres crunch on gravel behind me, slipping behind the nearest container just as headlights pass where I am. The car travels further up the makeshift track, and I follow using the containers as cover. Pausing as a car door slams shut, and low voices reach me through the silence of the early morning. I edge as close as I can without giving myself away, stretching my head and straining my ears in an effort to catch what is being said. Other than a few words here and there, I can’t make out anything useful.
With all my attention focused on the two men ahead of me, I don’t hear the person behind me until the last second. About to turn around, the snick of a gun has me halting as cool metal meets the back of my head.
“Don’t fucking move, arsehole!” a gruff voice whispers to the left of me. “Boss is going to shit rainbows when I tell him that the great Ryder Hawkins is no more. Not only will you be dead and buried, no longer a thorn in his side, but he’ll get his whore back too. I can’t wait to watch that reunion. It won’t be the first time I’ve watched him punish her or joined in the fun.” His words are dripping with unrestrained desire, and my nostrils flare and my lip curls up in rage and disgust. I can’t see the car from this position, but I become aware of an engine running before the car moves off and away. The pieces click in place; the car was a decoy to draw my attention. And I fell for it like a fucking rookie.
The dick behind me shoves the gun harder to my head and tells me to move. As I begin walking, he guides me with one-word directions and a knock to the back of my head every time, that has him snickering.
“She’s a sweet little fuck ain’t she. Don’t be shy, we all know you’ve been screwing her, think there’s even some footage of the two you floating around. Boss wasn’t happy, obviously, but the rest of us wanked over that shit for hours.”
I grind my teeth so fucking hard, I’m pretty sure I crack one. I store that little snippet of information away for later. I’m going to fucking rip this guy apart when I get my hands on him. They’ll have to put him back together like a fucking jigsaw just to identify him, and I’ll enjoy every fucking minute of it.
I keep walking, tuning him out so I don’t lose my shit too soon. I should have listened to my gut; I knew something felt off about this. I fucking knew it. When I spot the car up a head, I know I don’t have long to make my move. But the moron with a gun to my head is actually cleverer than I gave him credit for. As we approach, the driver’s side door opens and out steps dead man walking number two.
“In the back, and mind your head,” he mocks, and then slams my head on the roof as I go to slide in. My vision darkens for a second, but he’ll have to hit me harder than that to knock me out. Prick! He shoves me the rest of the way in, climbing in after me. The driver gets back in, starting the engine as corpse numero uno grabs a roll of duct tape from the footwell and begins to tape my hands together. God, these guys are amateurs.
As we pull out of the yard, we turn left heading towards Barking Power Station, but we turn off the road onto an industrial estate just before it. Pulling up outside a warehouse, numero uno steps out shutting the door before walking round to meet the driver as he climbs out too. The door locks click into place, and keeping my eyes on the two men, I lower my hands at the same time as lifting my left leg and pull out the compact spring assisted knife I keep there. The guys are still talking, and the driver looks pissed about something, waving his hands around animatedly. I close my fist around the knife just as the driver opens my door, shoving a hand inside and pulling me from the car.
I allow him to drag me into the warehouse, and as the light is flicked on, dust motes float in the air disturbed by our feet. The warehouse is empty except a single chair and several large crates stacked in one corner of the room.
I’m pushed onto the lone chair as numero uno stands to the right of me, his gun pointed at my temple. I wait them out, let’s see what these fucking clowns have up their sleeves. The driver stands in front of me, a wiry guy with slicked back black hair and arms covered in tattoos.
“Boss wants his whore back, and you dead, but we thought we’d have a little fun with you first,” he says, stepping forward and landing a punch to the left side of my jaw. My head whips to the side as the metallic tang of blood fills my mouth, and I spit it on the floor before turning back to him with a small smile on my lips.
“That all you got?” I ask, goading him on. “I know girls that hit harder than you,” I scoff at him. His eyes spark with fury, his lip twitching as the anger at my mocking bubbles up inside him. He steps forward again, this time landing one on my nose and blood shoots out, filling the back of my throat and cutting off my air for a second.
I don’t get time to provoke him further, as the hits keep coming; another to my jaw, to my ribs and finally an uppercut that has my teeth clashing together and my brain rattling. Catching my breath at last, I let out a roaring laugh that echoes through the empty warehouse. From the corner of my eye I watch numero uno lift the gun ready to pistol whip me as I continue to laugh, and at the last second I raise my arms, swinging to the right and knocking the gun from his hand. Caught off guard, I flick the knife out as I leap from the chair, swiping out and catching his cheek. He screeches, grabbing his face in his hand as blood seeps between his fingers, dripping down his neck and body. Within seconds his t-shirt is soaked through.
Turing quickly, I see the driver stepping back, his face ashen white. I spin the knife round and cut through the duct tape holding my hands as I stalk towards him. The moment the tape drops to the floor, the driver bolts for the door, but he’s not quick enough. I grab his neck from behind, squeezing the pressure point I know is there.
“Fuck you, man. Boss is gonna make you fucking pay for this,” he shouts out, as I drag him back to the chair and his friend, who has passed out on the floor. Guess I must have cut him deeper than I thought. Oops.
“Now, it’s my turn to have some fun,” I tell him, as I throw him to the floor, and the beast inside licks his lips at the blood that’s going to run tonight.
Wiping the blood from my hands, I pull out my phone and call Sully. I don’t give a shit that it’s almost 5am. It only rings a couple of times before he answers.
“Sully, I need a clean up crew at the industrial estate near the power station. I’ll text you the address,” I tell him, my voice an octave higher than normal from the adrenaline pumping in my veins. I haven’t felt this wired since my last tour in the army five years ago, and the night I lost six men.
“What the fuck, Blue?” he grumbles. “This was supposed to be recon, observation only. What the hell happened?” His voice is muffled slightly, no doubt from him dressing as he talks.
“It was a fucking set-up. Just get your arse down here.” I end the call before he can ask any more questions. He’s going to go postal on my arse when he sees the mess I just made of these two pricks.
I send the address to Sully, then a message to Seb, telling him to sweep my apartment and Jamie’s house. That bastard’s been watching us the whole fucking time, but the more important question is how?
Half an hour later Sully comes storming through the warehouse door like his arse is on fire, coming to a grinding halt when he sees me.
“Fuck me!” he mutters, as his eyes rove over the scene in front of him before coming to rest on me. I’m sat on the chair, naked from the waist up, with blood splatter covering every inch of my skin. “If you wanted a part in a horror movie, you should have said, I could’ve hooked you up,” he quips, taking measured steps towards me and avoiding the blood covering
the floor. “So, you want to tell me what happened?”
“Later. We have more important things to worry about,” I declare, rising from my chair and shoving a phone into his hand as I pass him. “You need to watch that. I need a fucking shower, then we’ll talk.” I exit the warehouse just as the crew arrives, and by the time I make it to Sully’s car he’s bursting out the door after me.
“How is this possible, Blue? How the fuck does he have footage of you and Cam screwing?” he asks, as he reaches me.
“Simple, Sully. We have a fucking mole,” I grit out, before getting in the car.
Back at Sully’s, I have the fucking hottest shower possible without scolding myself so badly I’ll need a trip to A&E, then dress in some spare clothes I always keep here. What the fuck was I thinking? Oh, yeah, I wasn’t, again. My head is fucked right now. I don’t regret slicing those fuckers up, especially numero uno after all the shit he spouted about Cam, and when I found that footage of us at my apartment on his phone, I thought I was going to explode with the need for vengeance. He was already dead, but I took great pleasure in going back, cutting his dick off and shoving it down his throat. Since leaving the army I’ve worked hard at keeping my demons locked up, but there wasn’t anything in this world that could have stopped me tonight.
I find Sully in the lounge, a file sitting on the coffee table, alongside two cups of tea and a plate of bacon sandwiches. Taking the seat opposite him, I grab my tea and a sandwich. Knowing I need the food despite my stomach roiling as soon as the smell hit me on the way down the stairs.
“Before we go into what went down at the warehouse, I also have something to tell you. You’re not going to like it, but I had my reasons, which won’t mean much right no—”
