by Tillie Cole
The posh fuckers took a fearful step back, as if my brother would pole-vault over the sea beneath us and land on their deck. “Stay calm,” I said to Vinnie so he could hear me. I heard him inhale and exhale, doing what I said, but his smile remained. Good thing about Vinnie, he always listened to me. I was his soulmate’s older brother. He’d never cross me in a million years. For Pearl. Everything he did was for, or because of, Pearl.
“I’m Eric Mason.” Eric gestured to Charlie. “This is Charlie Adley.” Then Eric came to me and hooked his arm around my neck. I put my gaze back on Cheska. “And this is Arthur Adley.” Eric gave the pricks on the opposite yacht a mocking bow. “Nice to fucking meet you.” His humour dropped. “You might have heard of us.”
The twat who had kissed Cheska and opened his fucking trap lost his superior smirk. The blood drained from his face. Of course the arsehole had heard of us. Cheska’s mates, who had been lying on loungers, quickly looked at Cheska. She was watching me like a hawk. Her eyelids lowered slightly, and a flush crept up her neck. I wanted to follow that flush with my tongue, and I knew Chelsea Girl would fucking love it.
“Come on,” the twat said to his mates, who were practically pissing themselves in fear behind him. Bravado fucking lost. “Let’s get a drink below deck.” They scurried away like the cowardly rats they were, and Cheska’s friends quickly trotted behind them.
“Come on,” Eric said to us all. “Let’s hit the beach bars. Posh pussy is too much like hard graft. And if I have to look at those twats again, I’m going to end them.” He waggled his brows. “Can’t have too much fun on day one or the rest of the holiday will be a fucking bust. Best keep the bloodshed until near the end. Go out with a fucking bang.”
Freddie laughed and threw his arm around Eric’s shoulders, the clown tattoos looking as though they were crawling off his skin.
“Beach bar. Bloody brilliant,” Charlie said sarcastically as Eric and Freddie headed off the yacht to the marina. Charlie put his hand on Vinnie’s shoulder. “Let’s get trolleyed, old boy. Let you scare the fuck out of the tourists for a bit. It’ll be fun.”
“I like this game. It’ll be fun until Pearl wakes up.” Vinnie cracked his knuckles and skipped to the back of the yacht. Charlie turned back around to me. I hadn’t moved. I was too fixated elsewhere. “If I’m enduring sand in my fucking arse crack, so are you, cousin,” he said.
I flicked my chin, wordlessly telling him I’d be right there. When he didn’t move, I sent a glance his way. Charlie frowned, then looked toward Cheska, who was still stood on the sun deck of her yacht, still in my line of sight. “Bloody hell,” he muttered and disappeared.
I lit up another cig as Cheska kept flitting her eyes to me. I pushed one hand into my shorts pocket. Her green-brown eyes raked over my body, hooking on my tattoos of Big Ben and old London Town on my torso. Her cheeks blazed again, and I felt my dick start to swell. She edged closer to the side of the yacht. I stayed still, watching for what she’d do. Her tits were still only a handful, but they would fit fucking perfectly in my hand. I took another drag of my cig just as Cheska reached the railing.
After a few seconds of staring into the water beneath her, she lifted her head and went to open her mouth, but Twatface appeared behind her. “Ches?”
Her shoulders sagged. I wondered if she wanted this cunt to fuck off as much as I did. I wanted to hear her voice. I wanted to know what she was going to say to me after five years. When Twatface saw me, he fought to look hard by holding his shoulders back and narrowing his eyes at me. He was probably trying not to shit himself.
The minute I smirked at his feeble attempt, he tensed. Panic filled his face. Taking Cheska’s hand, he pulled her back. “Come on, Ches. Let’s go.” Cheska followed him, and I watched her go, letting nicotine fill my lungs.
As Cheska took one last look at me over her shoulder, I flicked my cig overboard and walked from the sun deck to follow my mates. As I hit the pavement on the marina, all my brothers were waiting. I glanced up at Cheska’s yacht, and like five years ago, in the top window stood Chelsea Girl, green-brown eyes fixed on me, watching me go.
The coke and molly ran thick in my blood. Coloured lights circled the dancefloor, and trance music pounded from the speakers all around us. Some bird in a short blue dress climbed all over me, her over-filled lips kissing my neck as I drank whisky and smoked my joint. I was too fucking wasted to push her off. I rolled my head to the dancefloor, watching people grinding against each other from our table in the VIP room as the slut’s hand slipped inside my shorts and ran over my boxers, stroking my dick. Everyone was off their tits on drugs and booze and the freedom that came with their two weeks’ holiday in the sun, away from England’s grey skies and their fucking mundane lives.
The slut on my lap cupped my dick just as a group of people moved to a table beside us. The green laser lights in the club reflected off my glasses, blurring my sight … but as I narrowed my gaze, I saw a brunette in a fitted pink dress … and then she was all I could fucking see. Brown hair down her back, long legs, tight-as-fuck body … and her focus right on me.
Cheska.
When the lights switched from green to yellow, she became crystal clear. I smirked, only for that smirk to drop when Twatface from the yacht grabbed her face and kissed her. My heartbeat pounded in my ears; the drugs swelled my veins and fucked my brain. Cheska kissed him back, half-arsed. Her eyes were open. They were fixed on me.
“Fuck me,” the whore on my lap said. She was a total slapper. And she was gagging for my cock. In truth, she’d seen us in the VIP and wanted to escape the rammed main dancefloor for a night and be around the men who could give her free drinks. But she hadn’t stopped touching me since she clapped eyes on me. “Touch me,” she said again. I didn’t want to touch this rancid bitch. I just couldn’t be arsed to fight her off. The drugs were quick and she was here, nothing more to it. I wasn’t fucking this slut’s hole for all the money in the world … but now Cheska was here.
And I wanted to see her burn.
Eyes locked on Cheska, whose mouth was getting sloppily fucked by Twatface’s tongue, I slid my hand under the slut’s dress. Cheska’s gaze followed my every move. My attention never moved from her. I pushed the slut’s thong aside and slipped a finger inside her. The whore on my lap screamed, her nails digging into my shoulders.
Twatface kissed down Cheska’s neck, sucking on her skin, giving her full view of me and what my hand was doing. Cheska’s eyes widened, and her cheeks blazed. Her chest lifted up and down, fucking breathless, as I plunged my fingers into the slut’s pussy. I couldn’t give a fuck about getting this bitch off. But I wanted Cheska to see this whore as her. Her on my fucking lap, not getting slobbered on by the prick currently trying to eat her neck.
The slut screamed out and her pussy tightened around my fingers as I made her come. The loud music drowned out her screams, but I knew Cheska had heard her by the parting of her lips. The slapper tried to collapse against me, but I pushed her back from me by her forehead, done with having her anywhere near me. “Get the fuck off,” I said, not even looking in her direction. I pushed her arse off me, dumping her in the chair, and got to my feet.
I needed a fucking cig.
I crossed the room and pushed outside into the alleyway. I pulled a cig from my pocket and sparked up, inhaling deep. The door opened beside me, and I looked up and saw Chelsea Girl slip through. It slammed shut behind her, making her jump. I put my cig in my mouth and faced her, leaning against the wall. Like she felt the weight of my stare, she turned from the door and faced me.
She inhaled a shuddering breath. “I don’t know why I followed you …” She took a step closer. Fuck, the drugs were good. Ours, of course, so I knew they were pure. But they made this posh bird I first saw years ago look like a fucking angel. “Arthur Adley,” she said and smiled. I felt something pull in my chest at my name on her lips.
“Cheska Harlow-Wright,” I said, my thick cockney accent sounding common
as shit around her fancy double-barrelled name.
“You remember me?”
I closed my eyes, leaned my head back against the wall and took another drag of my cig. “Did you enjoy the show back there?”
I opened my eyes. Chelsea Girl’s mouth dropped open and her cheeks blazed bright red. I smirked and waited for her to speak, but the fire door flew open. Freddie was searching for me.
“Artie,” he said, all business. High or not, my body immediately went on alert. “Eric’s getting into it with a group of loudmouth Welsh pricks,” was all he said. “It’s gonna be bloody carnage.”
I closed my eyes, and my head fell back against the wall. I opened my eyes and flicked my cig to the floor. I moved past Cheska, followed Freddie and headed over to my mates.
Charlie fell into step beside me, tearing himself from some barman he’d clearly been chatting up. “We can’t even go a few hours without shedding blood.” He smiled at me, teeth shining. “I’m not complaining. Jason there was getting on my nerves anyway. All brawn, not enough brains,” he said. “I’m bored as fuck. I could do with breaking a few noses.”
“How many?” I asked Freddie, as I saw Eric near the front door, smiling his fucking deadly smile at the blokes around him. I shot a glance to Vinnie, who was bouncing on his feet as he joined us.
“I think it’s time to fight,” Vinnie said to thin air beside him. “It’s time to fight, baby. And I want to fight. I like the smell and taste of blood. I like feeling bones crushing under my hand.” Vinnie turned back to me. “We fucking fighting, right, Artie?” he asked, cheeks flushed. “Right, Charlie?”
“No doubt, old boy,” Charlie said, rolling back the sleeves of his shirt. “This is Eric we’re talking about. He could start a fight with his own bloody shadow.”
Vinnie looked beside him. And he smiled, but this wasn’t his manic smile. This was a true smile. One he only ever had for her. “I promise, treasure,” he said again to thin air. “I won’t get hurt. I never get hurt. I never want to see you upset.”
My sister. Vinnie hallucinated my sister. Had done since she’d died and her death had worsened his issues. Vinnie ran a hand down her imaginary face, caressing nothing but empty space. “You always worry about me, Pearlie-girl. But I’d never leave you, just like you’ll never leave me.” For all intents and purposes, Vinnie was in a relationship with my sister’s ghost and had been for years. It was the only relationship he could probably actually ever have.
“There’s nine of them,” Freddie said, pulling my focus back to him. “Eric was fingering one of their birds against the club’s wall, and her fella saw.”
I stopped when we reached Eric. He didn’t look away from the beefed-up wankers surrounding him. I put my hands in my pockets and stared at the red-faced twat currently firing daggers at my mate.
“Problem?” I asked, and the twat’s eyes swung to me.
“Good. Fucking more of them,” one of them said and rolled his hands into fists. I smiled, coldly. Then I stepped forward, and before the cunt even had time to swing his fist, I grabbed his jaw and ploughed my head into his nose. He dropped to the floor, and all fucking hell broke loose. It was a blur of fists and breaking bones as the pricks around us tried to take us on, each one dropping to the ground, not even getting a hit on us—unless it was intended.
Eric lowered his fists and let the main bloke punch him across the face. Eric’s head snapped to the side, blood pouring from his lip. He ran his tongue over the blood, then smiled, widening the cut. The guy froze at Eric’s reaction. Then Eric was on him. Tackling him to the ground and pummelling his face until the bloke was out cold. I stepped back, pulled out a cig and glared at the fuckers on the ground. I inhaled a drag, letting Eric have his fill of spilled blood, then, resting the cig between my lips, pulled him from the fucked-up prick on the floor.
“Outside,” I ordered Eric. He was breathing hard, his knuckles split from all the hits. We passed by the bouncers. I flicked my chin at the mass of groaning twats trying to get up from the floor. “Sort them the fuck out.” The bouncers moved to the Welshmen without question. The Adleys fucking ruled this town. Anyone who worked here wouldn’t dare question a word I said, not unless they had a death wish. My family had men paid off all over Europe. We ran Spain with our gear.
I pushed through the crowded street, drunken Brits falling over and getting in my fucking way. I pushed a smashed cunt aside when he fell in my path.
“Oi, mate! You got a fucking death wish?” he snapped, trying to get closer to me as he stumbled to his feet.
Charlie walked toward him and nutted the arsehole’s forehead, then fell back into step beside me as though nothing had happened. The fucker went down like a sack of potatoes, and his mates rushed around him.
We stopped across the street, and I threw a cig at Eric. The fucker winked and grinned before lighting up. Blood still covered his chin, and the tosser made no move to wipe it away. I looked around my family. All our knuckles were bloodied.
“All that for fingering some slut?” Freddie said to Eric. “She better have been worth it.”
Eric raised his hand and put his fingers under Freddie’s nose. “You tell me.”
Freddie batted his hand away, leaving Eric laughing. I took off my glasses, wiping the spots of blood from the lenses when I heard, “Adley.” I turned, and before me was Ollie Lawson. My lip curled just seeing his pretentious fucking face.
I put my glasses back on, took a drag of my cig and blew it out right in his face. Ollie’s nostrils flared, but he wouldn’t dare do shit against me. His old man owned a few docks around London. A legit business. Import and export. Lawson’s old man had offered my dad millions over the years to get ours too. Never with much luck, of course. The Lawsons were smug and smarmy and royal pains in our arses.
Especially this fucker. The sight of his face alone made me want to shatter his skull.
“Lawson!” Eric held out his arms. “No hug for me?”
“You’ve got blood all over your chin,” Lawson said, clearly disgusted. Eric made sure Lawson was watching as he licked at the blood.
“Did I get it all?” Eric asked, knowing he hadn’t. Charlie and Freddie laughed. Vinnie whispered into Pearl’s ear, and I just fucking glared. I hated this twat. Raised with a silver spoon in his mouth and walked around like he owned our fucking town.
“Anyway, just thought we’d say hello,” Lawson said, pointing to his mates. “We’re here for a holiday, just like you. A break from the Big Smoke, yeah?” He glanced at each of my mates, but his attention stayed on my cousin. “Charlie, sucked any good cocks lately?”
“Just your old man’s,” my cousin said. “But that maggot could hardly be classed as a dick.”
Ollie’s eyes flared. But we all knew he wouldn’t raise his fist. Lawson wasn’t a fighter. He was nothing. And we didn’t waste our energy on nothings.
Then Ollie’s eyes drifted over my shoulder and he broke out in a huge grin. “Sorry to cut our little chat short, Artie, but I’ve got someone I need to see.”
Lawson and his mates brushed past us and headed toward the club we’d just been in. I watched them go, only for that fucker to walk right up to Cheska. I tensed, ready to charge at the arsehole for even speaking to her. Then he hugged her; Cheska hugged him right back.
“That’s the bird from the yacht beside us,” Freddie said. “She knows Lawson?” My nails sliced into my palm as I clenched my fist so hard my bones practically broke. How the fuck did Cheska know Ollie Lawson? Had she fucked him? I felt my anger growing like a fucking demon inside me. That was new. Nothing made me feel much anymore.
I watched them head inside the club, Lawson’s arm around Cheska’s waist. I curled my hand around the knife in my pocket and fought the urge to follow them. I had just taken a deep breath when my mobile rang in my pocket. I took it out and saw my dad’s name.
“Dad,” I said, my eyes still fixed on Lawson through the window, at the bar with Cheska. She was smiling at h
im. She clearly knew him well.
“I need you to pay your Uncle Johnny Bailey a visit.”
“What kind of visit?” I asked. My mates gathered around, watching me.
“A thorough one,” Dad said.
I nodded at Charlie, and he took out his mobile and called for our transport. “We’ll go see him now.” I headed away from the club and toward the main road.
“Silly wanker has been giving away presents left, right and centre, and we know he can’t afford it,” my dad said. That was code, just in case Scotland Yard or some other agency were listening in trying to get something on our firm—that would never happen. We were too fucking careful.
Dad was telling me that Johnny was keeping the blow profits for himself instead of sending them back to London like a good boy. Didn’t matter that he’d been in my old man’s inner circle for years back in London, running one of the routes here in Marbella for only the last few years. Dad was ruthless. And he wanted me and my boys to send a message to anyone else on foreign shores who tried to steal from the Adley firm.
“I’ll call you later,” I said and hung up.
By the time we made it to the main road, a blacked-out van was waiting for us. We climbed in and Eric shut the door. My mates looked at me. “You ready for some more fun?” I asked, and each one of them smiled.
We pulled in to a villa far away from anyone and anything. The driver of the van hit the headlights as we travelled down the gravelled roads that led to Johnny’s villa and the basement he kept the gear in. I didn’t want him knowing we were coming. Wanted to catch that fucker by surprise.
We stopped outside the villa, and I climbed out the passenger side. I walked up the main path to the front door, my men at my back. I didn’t knock or ring the bell. I shouldered the door, snapping the lock. My eyes scanned the villa and the staircase that led upstairs. No fucker was here.
