The booth was a circular chair cut into the wall, the seats covered in leather cushions for comfort. Either side of the entrance were two bodyguards, employed by Curtis to keep Harry safe and out of trouble.
Lucas walked through the bar area, ignoring the offer of a drink from the scantily-clad barmaid who clearly made more in tips. The music drew him to the main stage, the lights flashing as Sapphire, now completely naked, bent over for the leering crowds of men who had gathered at the railings, throwing money and demanding more.
A fist flew at Lucas and he immediately threw up a forearm, deflecting it and responding with a jumping knee to the ribs. The bouncer, drawn to Lucas by Lemar's final call before unconsciousness, stumbled back a few steps, allowing his partner to charge. Lucas span to his left, grasped the back of the bouncer’s shirt collar and directed his head to the metal railing edging the empty stage. The impact was loud, in pain and volume, and everyone in the vicinity turned. The customers watched on with enthusiasm, whilst Sapphire scrambled naked on the stage floor, trying to collect her earnings.
In the far booth, one of the bodyguards told Harry to leave, watching as the young Drayton couldn't string together a coherent trail of thought due to his intoxication. Whilst he waited for Harry to move slowly, scrambling over the unhelpful strippers, the other bodyguard ran to join the action.
With the music rattling the dimly lit club, Lucas dropped the unconscious man against the stage and planted his feet firmly on the floor. The other bouncer, feeling the pain surfacing in his ribs, re-approached, throwing wild punches, all of which Lucas blocked with maximum efficiency. He then delivered a hard side kick to the man's upper thigh, thinking back to the technique Alex had shown him. As the bouncer's balance deserted him, he stumbled to the left, where Lucas connected with a sickeningly powerful right hook. The bouncer fell to the stick, hardwood floor with his jaw instantly broken.
Lucas looked down at the two bouncers, feeling nothing but the drive to find Harry and marched past the customers who all backed away, their fear obvious. The bodyguard, dressed in a black suit, had a knife in his left hand, his mission to stop Lucas clear. He lunged at Lucas who instantly dropped his shoulder, the blade cutting the air beside his stern, focused face. He instantly grabbed the man's wrist with both hands and then lifted his back into the man's body. With the momentum of the lunge, the bodyguard flipped over Lucas and slammed his spine against one of the thick oak tables that were nailed to the floor for safety reasons. The impact was as brutal as it was quick, the bodyguard hitting the hard floor head-first as he dropped. The customers had begun to cheer Lucas on, nobody applauding Sapphire as she hastened her exit from the stage, notes hanging from her folded arms.
Harry witnessed the attack, his face somehow creating a new shade of pale from fear. He managed to scramble out of the booth, falling over the little step and then stumbled towards the fire exit door. Lucas approached the final bodyguard, who pulled his hands up, revealing his boxing training. Lucas manoeuvred into a defensive stance and blocked the first few jabs. As the bodyguard propelled forward with a right hook, Lucas cut him off with an uppercut that connected with the underneath of his chin. Blood, saliva and teeth spewed out of the man's mouth like a fountain and he fell back against the table where Harry had been seated moments ago. Bottles toppled, like sandcastles falling into the sea and the two strippers screamed in terror. Before the bodyguard could get to a vertical stance again, Lucas connected with a hard right, sending the man crashing face-first into the small step, before rolling onto the floor, his face a crimson mask.
Lucas looked at the two strippers, who huddled in fear screaming for help. He looked back at the customers, many of them awestruck by the sheer efficiency of his fighting. The music still pounded out of the speakers like a tribal drum, the lights flashing. The scene of destruction flashed into sharp relief one second, then was gone the next.
Lucas took one final sweep of the venue, the four bodies lying either motionless or writhing in severe pain.
He straightened his jacket and marched out the fire exit door.
A thin mist of rain had mixed with the wind and it blasted Harry in the face as he burst through the back door. His shirt swung untucked from his trousers, his jacket stained with alcohol. The panic of being chased was amplified in his head due to the amount of drugs circulating through his body. His steps were uneven, his legs wobbling as he stumbled across the car park towards the red Porsche he’d parked under the only working lamp post. The light beamed down on his escape route as if from the heavens themselves.
His hands fought his trousers until they found the pocket, trembling as they entered and pulled out the keys.
The sound of the door opening and closing behind him inspired Harry to pick up the pace, however one foot ignored the other and they collided, sending Harry to the hard, concrete floor. His keys spilled from his hands, sliding a few feet ahead. The air was damp, mixing with the tears beginning to fall down his cheeks.
Footsteps echoed in the car park, closing in on Harry as he pushed himself up, blood easing out of a cut on his knee.
He managed to scoop up the keys from the ground but fell against the door of his car. He fumbled around, the keys slipping around his fingers like a wet bar of soap as he hurriedly tried to find the correct one.
The footsteps came to a stop behind.
Harry took a deep breath, then made an effort to wrestle hold of the fear.
“Look man, I don't know what this is about or who the fuck you are but please, let's just...
Harry spun around fast, the keys flailing out of his grip like claws. He swung them at Lucas's face as hard as he could.
Calmly, Lucas reached up and grabbed him by his thin, flimsy forearm. Harry's eyes burst with horror as Lucas spun him around, and with his hand firmly grasping the back of Harry's skull, drove his head into the car window. The faint wailing of sirens could be heard in the distance, merging with the muffled thumping of the club's music.
Harry hit the ground silently, followed by a downpour of glass that glistened like rain in the single beam of light from above.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“Fuck!”
A TV monitor crashed against the bright, cream walls of the 'Odds On' betting shop, the screen shattering and collapsing to the floor followed by trickles of glass. On the other wall, the bracket from which it had originally hung swung from one final screw; all the others had been ripped out along with the monitor.
Curtis Drayton angrily observed the monitor fall to the floor, anger pumping through his body like an overdose. His face was a shade of pink, the fury changing his complexion. He breathed heavily as he tried to control the rage that had surged through him as soon as Tommy had taken the call.
Usually, he would have revelled in the fear a police officer would have had knowing he was about to call the Draytons. The squirming, pathetic man of the law. Blind rage had removed all traces of pleasure.
He may not have liked or respected Lewis, at times even hated him. But he was family. The family he had protected from their father all those years ago and a part of the family he’d built into an empire running London. Lewis was his property and his property had been destroyed.
Tommy stood with his large, vein-riddled arms folded, his back resting against the long counter running the length of the shop. His apparent calm about the situation was only adding to Curtis's fury, a whirlwind of explosive rage in a fine, tailor-made suit.
Sat on the high stools were two lackeys, names that Curtis couldn't remember and didn't care about. They were hired by Tommy to do errands that neither of them wanted to do.
You could have heard a pin drop but for Curtis's breathing.
He angrily paced the room, glass cracking under his Italian loafers as he turned to his younger brother.
“You find this guy, okay, Tommy? You find this motherfucker and you kill him. YOU KILL HIM!”
Tommy raised an eyebrow at the command then returned to the phone, his h
ulking hands skimming the smart phone screen. Curtis angrily snatched it and hurled it at the wall. Another downpour of technology scattered the floor. Tommy, stone-faced, turned to Curtis.
'Some prick thinks he can attack our family. Our family!' Curtis ranted, still pacing. His voice echoed in the silent shop. “I want him, I want his family and I want his family’s family. You hear me?”
“Calm down!” Tommy soothed.
“Calm down? CALM FUCKING DOWN?” Curtis almost chuckled. “He killed our brother, Tommy!”
“Yeah, he killed Lewis.” Tommy pushed himself off the counter. “But let's face it, Lewis was a piece of shit embarrassment to this family. Always has been. If anything, this has saved us a job.”
“So, what? You’re on this prick’s side all of a sudden? I should fucking kill you right now!”
Tommy took a few steps forward towards Curtis, both men burning holes through the other’s eyes. Tommy encased Curtis in his hulking shadow. His voice was low and quiet.
“You really want to go down that road with me, Curtis?”
Curtis's face distorted into a hideous scowl and he turned from the intimidation of his brother, taking slow steps to the other elevated table. Tommy stood, hands on his hips.
“Look, we’re not the only people in this city capable of things like this. You remember the amount of bloodshed when Flanagan and his boys tried to take Wood Green?”
Curtis snorted, his mind racing back to the Irish brothers who’d tried to muscle in a few years ago, selling their cheap heroin at even cheaper prices. The streets of Wood Green were stained with more than just blood after Tommy had taken it back.
“I say we wait until morning, wait until we hear from Ashley about what's going on and we go from there.”
Tommy’s suggestion appeared to fall on deaf ears, Curtis staring at a blank patch of wall, no one daring to imagine what was circling his mind. The two lackeys sat silently, obediently, like attack dogs. Tommy crunched over glass to his elder brother.
“But, believe me, Curtis. When we find this piece of shit, and I promise you I will. We’ll make sure he feels every second of his death.”
Curtis turned slowly, almost unnerved by the cold vengeance hanging in his brother’s words. He took a breath and stood up, straightening his tie. Wrestling back control.
“Just bring him to me.”
He nodded at his brother, then powerfully stepped over to the other table. The hired muscle immediately sat to attention: Curtis felt the power returning.
“Call some of your boys. I want protection for Matt, Harry and Ashley and I want it now. Wherever they go, your boys follow.”
“Matt won't like being babysat,” Tommy interjected.
“Fuck Matt!” Curtis turned, snarling his words. “He will do what he’s goddamned told!”
Tommy shrugged his brother off, who turned back to the blank, fear-filled faces under his employment.
“Go on then.”
The two men quickly slid their chairs back, the screech of the metal shrill like a bird chirping. They exited through the door quickly, Curtis watching them leave with a twisted snarl.
“I need a drink.”
He stalked slowly towards the door to his office, looking at the broken mess of technology on the floor and making a note to have it cleaned. Tommy had pulled another phone from his pocket, his thumb fanning over the bright screen.
“Want me to call the others? Let them know what’s happened?”
“Yes, do it!” Curtis replied. “Tell them to keep their eyes and ears open. Also, make sure you keep trying Harry. He never answers his phone.”
“That's because he is usually flat on his back and completely fucked.”
Curtis chuckled, pushing open the door to climb the stairs to his impending drink. Tommy raised the phone to his ears.
Harry woke up flat on his back and completely fucked. He didn't know it straightaway, his eyes wearily forcing themselves open to be greeted by a sharp brightness from a lone bulb. The room smelt damp and dusty, the surface he laid on was hard and unforgiving. His arms were outstretched above his head, bound by metal around the wrists. Cable clips, the plastic staples used to tack wire to the wall, had been hammered to the wooden desk between his fingers, separating them at the knuckle as if he was doing an elaborate wave.
His head throbbed with pain, and it was joined by the feeling of blood sticky in his naturally greasy hair. He tried moving his feet, but, again, his joints met nothing but metal.
An echoing sound of whistling filled the room behind him, bouncing off the walls and making it impossible to pinpoint.
“Hello?”
No answer, although the shuffling sound of footsteps and drawers being opened caused Harry to make the attempt to turn his head.
“Is somebody there?”
His words trembled, his fear laid bare. He retraced his steps, the throbbing pain of a head injury and the after-effects of a lot of cocaine and alcohol not helping his task. He remembered being at the club, Tiffany, the newest stripper, rubbing him off under the table whilst he took another line.
He remembered a panic, bouncers and bodyguards rushing.
He remembered the shrieks of terror, the crash of a body on a table.
The man in the leather jacket.
His body tightened immediately, his breathing became difficult through panicked thoughts and sharp exhales. The man in the leather jacket, who had been picking apart his trained protectors as if they were nothing.
In the car park. Falling over. The footsteps. The wild slash of the keys.
He remembered the man grabbing his arm with considerable strength.
Then black.
Harry tried to calm his breathing but only ended up crying.
Chills had danced up Lucas's spine as he’d pulled into the gravel car park, specks of rain randomly dotting the windscreen. The Porsche was a nice drive, the car handling like a dream through the empty streets across London. The journey from Kilburn to Bermondsey was almost eight miles, although even at eleven-thirty at night, the A5 was a beehive of activity and bright headlights.
Lucas had laughed as he’d stopped at a red light, only for a police car to pull up beside him. The officers looked across, seeing Harry lying back in the chair, completely motionless. Lucas had removed the remainder of the glass from the window he’d introduced to Harry's skull and leaned his elbow on it casually. Lucas intimated to them that Harry had had one too many, rolling his eyes and shaking his head. One of the officers smiled before they drove off as soon as the lights changed, obviously with more important matters to attend to. Something they had in common with Lucas.
As he’d pulled the Porsche to a stop in the car park, he’d felt his stomach flip. Strung across the doorway in an x shape was black and yellow police tape. The warning sign fluttered in the wind which painted the door with a fresh coat of rain drops.
This is where it happened, he told himself.
The police had explained to him where they’d found her and researching the location online hadn’t been difficult. He winced as he imagined a terrified Helen being hauled from a car, dragged across this very gravel and taken inside. His throat began to overlap on itself, the imminent feeling of throwing up taking over as he thought of the sick, depraved bastards as they’d their hands over his wife. He hunched over and dry heaved, no sick, no saliva pouring forth.
Only pain.
He composed himself, finding relief in the crispness of the cold moisture sitting thickly in the ever increasing wind. The area was silent, the industrial park an arena of isolation. Many of the units or offices were boarded up, ‘for sale’ signs littering the parking lot.
This place was a graveyard.
A place where lives came to an end.
He was in the right place.
Lucas wrenched the tape from the door frame with one easy swipe before using a full force kick to rattle the flimsy lock off its hinge. The door swung open, a waft of damp and neglect almost knoc
king him over. Lucas took a deep breath and then entered the dark.
As he stepped inside, he willed his eyes to adjust to the room, with a vague awareness of furniture and objects pushed against the wall. As he walked in further, something slapped gently against his face.
A light switch.
He pulled the string and a single bulb buzzed into life.
Squinting, he saw a lone sofa in the room, out of place with the freshness of its quality. Scanning around he noticed a large workbench in the far corner of the room and then a sight that made his fists clench.
A dried patch of blood staining the floor.
He knew it had belonged to Helen.
He pushed his grief aside and heaved the sofa to the shadows encompassing the circular beam and then made light work of hauling the bench into its place.
Now the bench had Harry Drayton secured to it, with nowhere to run and no excuses. Lucas remained silent, opening up the drawers in a tool storage unit, the metallic implements jingling as he rummaged through them.
“Help me!” Harry increased the volume.
Lucas sighed and slowly walked over to the bench, his footsteps inviting dust to rise from the floor in small clouds. He reached the end of the table, strolling around it slowly until his eyes made contact with the fearful Harry.
“Do you honestly think I’d take you somewhere where anyone might be able to hear you?”
Lucas raised his eyebrows, awaiting a response. The horrified expression was the only answer he needed. He returned to the darker outskirts of the room, leaving Harry to ponder his fate while he rifled through more tools until he found what he’d been looking for. They had seen better days, the rust clinging to the metal like fungus.
Harry's voice was as weak as he was.
One by One: A brutal, gritty revenge thriller that you won't be able to put down. Page 19
