Lord of London Town

by Tillie Cole

  I love you … your broken queen …

  She was like me. Just fucking like me. My chest ached like it had been punched by a heavyweight boxer. My pulse thundered in my neck and wrist, pounding and pounding, never-fucking-ending.

  Cheska was fucking up my head. I’d let her in, and she was fucking tearing me down. I couldn’t think with her around me, couldn’t bastard think without her. All I wanted to do was keep the bird close and fuck her, sink inside her pussy and listen to her scream as she pressed her tits to my chest, then … I love you …

  The car turned into the driveway of the church. Fireworks were already in the sky. Bonfires littered the fields, Guy Fawkes effigies burning on the pyres.

  Fucking Bonfire Night. The fifth of November.

  And Cheska’s birthday.

  She’d been quiet since the other night at the pits. She sat alone a lot, lost in thought. I didn’t know how the fuck to help her. She’d lost her mates, her old man and the fuckwit that was Hugo Harrington. She wasn’t used to death like I was—especially death by murder. Then it had been piled on her like petrol would be poured on bonfires up and down the country tonight.

  The car stopped and I got out. I went straight to my bedroom, my feet almost fucking faltering as I passed by my old man’s room. Something inside me tried to pull me to him. The part of me that had cracked open when Chelsea Girl had barrelled back into my life, when she’d stood in the pits in her leather trousers and thrown down the gauntlet, dragging her pristine white queen down my bloodied chest and telling me she was mine.

  Mine. That she was the fucking dark queen ready to reign at my side.

  The crack she’d caused never fucking closed. The more time I spent with her, the more it widened. And with every inch it grew, the fucking pain almost brought me to my knees. It made me fucking hate her, made me want to push her away and stop fucking up my life. But then she’d smile at me, cast those fucking green-brown eyes on me and … I love you …

  And she’d consume me some more. Sinking her talons further into my brain. I didn’t let anyone in. Had never let anyone in. No more. Never again after Mum and Pearl, but then Cheska … she came and smashed through my walls, fracturing the fuckers until she slid into the cracks. Until she got under my skin and started tearing me apart, smothering my brain.

  I needed her. I fucking craved her.

  Cheska wasn’t in the bedroom. I quickly took a shower, then went looking for her. Charlie, Eric and Vinnie were already in the living room. “Penny for the guy,” Eric said, holding out his whisky glass like the tosser he was.

  “Black eye okay as a replacement?” I said and got myself a gin.

  “So violent,” the fucking plank replied.

  “So, old boy,” Charlie said, sidling up beside me. “How’s the traitor?”

  “Dead.”

  Charlie held up his glass in approval. “I’ll drink to that.”

  My eyes were fixed on the doorway, waiting for Cheska. “Where is she?”

  “In one of the bedrooms with Betsy.” Charlie nudged me, lips twitching. “Calm down, Artie. It’s only been five minutes since you last seen her.”

  “Fuck off.”

  “Seriously,” Eric said, taking a seat next to Vinnie, “who knew the great Arthur Adley, the Dark Lord of London Town himself, could be tamed by a posh bit of pussy.”

  “Watch it,” I warned Eric.

  “Pearl approves,” Vinnie said, and I felt my body fucking tense. I eyed my mate. The nutter was staring at me like he could see right through to my brain, see how much Cheska was screwing with my head. Vinnie nudged his head to “Pearl”. “She said she likes her, even if she is from Chelsea.”

  I thought of Cheska the other night when Vinnie had told her that her mates were okay. That they didn’t blame her. Cheska had asked me if I thought Vinnie could really talk to the fucking dead. I’d never given it much thought before. Now it was all I could fucking think of. I was dreaming of my mum, Pearl, the fire. Dreaming of my old man getting gunned down before me. Dreaming about them sitting around Vinnie, staring right at me.

  Like a tap. She’d made the shit I locked away in my head into a fucking tap. One twist and the drip it had been had turned into a full bloody stream. And I couldn’t fucking switch it off.

  I didn’t feel. That wasn’t what I did. I was fucking numb. I had to be to live this life, to be the head of this family. To fucking survive. But there was now a fucking Cheska-sized hole in my chest that was bleeding all over the bloody place.

  Gene walked into the room; the kid was skittish as fuck. “Gene,” I said, taking in his black clothes and the long sleeves he had pulled down over his arms. Sleeves that when pulled back revealed two black bandages that hid a fuck-ton of razor scars.

  That’s what people who felt too much in this life became. A fucking shell—cutting, drugs and death the only escapes.

  “Hi, Artie,” he said and sat down on the chair. He stared at his feet, only lifting his eyes to look at Charlie. The kid felt better in my cousin’s company. And he should. Charlie would have anyone in this family’s back.

  “Where the fuck is she?” I said again, needing to see Cheska’s fucking face.

  Freddie entered the room and laughed. “Bloody hell, Artie. Calm the fuck down. Never I thought I’d see the day when you were controlled by a bird.”

  I was going to kill them all. One by fucking one.

  Five minutes later, I slammed my glass down on the bar and planned on dragging Cheska out of the bedroom, ready or not. That or fucking her over the bed, not giving two shits who was watching. Just as I passed Gene’s chair, Betsy, Vera, Ronnie and Cheska came through the doorway.

  “Alright, Artie,” Betsy said, a knowing smile pulling on her lips. “You look flustered.” Betsy pulled Cheska through behind her. My fucking heart almost stopped when she entered in high-waisted jeans and a white top tucked into them. The outfit showed off every inch of her perfect figure, curves for fucking days.

  Cheska smiled at me, her brown hair falling down her exposed back. “Get the fuck here,” I hissed, and Cheska walked toward me in her knee-high boots. I cupped the back of her head and pulled her into me. I smashed my lips to hers, tasting something sweet on her lips, no doubt some fucking sugary cocktail Betsy would have made her.

  A thunderous chorus of bangs came from outside, echoing around the old church. “Fireworks!” Ronnie said, and everyone in the room headed outside.

  When they were gone, I slammed Cheska against the wall. “Happy fucking birthday, princess,” I said against her mouth, moving my hands straight to her tits as she pushed against me. My lips dropped to her neck.

  I fucking cursed the woman. I was addicted. Didn’t want her out of my sight. And as I thought of the fuckers who wanted her, who wanted to steal her from me, to sell her and use as a fuck-toy, I saw red. I wanted to tear the twats apart, limb by limb, and hang their bones on my fucking church door to warn any other arsehole off.

  “I missed you,” Cheska said, putting her hands on my face. I kissed her again. Words didn’t come easily to me. I didn’t tell her I loved her or fucking missed her. I protected her, fucked her and made her mine in other ways. That’s what I could give. All I knew how to fucking give.

  “Let’s go.” She took my hand. I yanked her back and studied her face. I knew that under her makeup she had dark circles under her eyes. She’d lost some weight, and she had been plagued by nightmares since the night in the pits. I narrowed my eyes, trying to read her.

  “I’m good, babe,” she said, convincing no one, and kissed my lips. “I promise. I’m …” She sighed, and I felt her fucking slipping away from my grasp. I’d always known it was a fucking pipe dream, her being with me, being okay with this life. “Just let’s enjoy tonight.” She flashed her pearly white teeth. “Who doesn’t love fireworks?”

  Cheska put on her coat at the door, and I followed behind. The rain had eased, and colours of light burst all over the London sky, looking like the fucki
ng Blitz. Cheska stopped next to Betsy. I put my hand around her waist and pulled her back to my chest. I sparked up a cig, then placed it in Cheska’s mouth. She took it from me, and I lit my own. Cheska’s head fell against my chest as she stared up at the sky. But I kept my fucking eyes on her. That ache was back in my chest, but it was hitting me deeper, harder.

  Cheska’s hand covered my hand and she turned back to me, exhaling a cloud of smoke, and smiled wide. And that ache in my chest became a fucking canyon. I scanned around the church, past the graveyard and tall headstones, making sure everything was safe.

  Charlie caught my gaze and frowned at me. He winked, but I saw the concern on his face.

  I was going insane. This … Cheska was making me go insane. It was why my old man had never recovered after my mum died. Never married again, hell, never even had a girlfriend. Sure, he fucked birds, whores, but once my mum was gone, he’d locked up all his feelings and only siphoned off the anger that consumed him on his rivals. That was the path he’d shown me too. If he’d been awake now, he’d have laughed in my face for being so fucking pathetic over a piece of pussy. Told me I was an idiot and to shut this thing with Cheska the fuck down before it made me weak.

  Then Cheska turned and took my mouth, and despite it all, I fucking let her in. I tasted her and let her perfume wrap around me. The fireworks finally ended; only random ones from people’s gardens were going off now.

  “Drinks!” Betsy shouted, then led us all inside. We made our way to the living room, and shots were poured. “Presents!” Betsy called.

  Cheska tensed on my knee. “No, you didn’t have to—”

  Betsy handed her a present, and I heard the long inhale that Cheska took. Betsy must have seen, as she said, “Open it, darling.”

  Cheska opened the box. She laughed, pulling out a book on cockney rhyming slang. Betsy shrugged. “Just thought it might help you a bit more round these parts. Not many people round here could hold a conversation with the queen.” My cousin nodded toward the box again. “There’s a pair of Tiffany earrings in there too.”

  “Thank you,” Cheska said, a hitch in her voice. I held her tighter.

  Ronnie got up next. She handed her a box. “From me, Vera and Gene.” Cheska took off the lid and froze. “Hairpins,” Ronnie said, smirking. “Maybe not the ones you’re used to receiving. But ones that’ll help you better in this family.”

  I kissed the back of Cheska’s neck as she pulled back the tissue paper. Two long silver hairpin blades sat in the box. Cheska lifted them up. “To carry with you,” Vera said. “Just in case.”

  Cheska felt the end of the blade, pulling her hand away when it brought a spot of blood to her finger.

  “My present’s lessons on how to use them,” Eric said from across the room.

  “Leech,” Vera said.

  “We’re fucking blokes,” he said, indicating the rest of us. “We don’t do presents. Unless you want a hooker. I can get one here in five minutes flat.”

  “Pig.” Betsy rolled her eyes.

  “I’m good, thank you, Eric,” Cheska said, smiling, then lowered her eyes. I saw my family casting glances to each other, wondering what was wrong with her.

  “It means a lot to me,” she said, voice tight, and I held her closer. She turned to look at me, and I frowned. “I’m okay,” she said, reading my fucking mind as always.

  I was just about to push her for more answers when my phone rang. Charlie’s went off too. Charlie looked at his phone and spat, “Fuck!” He met my eyes. I pulled out my phone and saw the message. My blood boiled in my veins.

  “Fuck,” I growled and lifted Cheska off my lap.

  Ronnie was on her feet in two seconds when she saw the message. “I’m coming.” All my family received the message, one by one.

  “We’re all coming,” Betsy said. I glanced at Cheska. “She’ll have to come. Gene too. There’ll be no one here to watch them. Unless you want me to call in some soldiers.”

  “They’re fucking coming,” I said. My family knew I wouldn’t trust any fucker but one of these with her, with Gene. We all went for the cars. Cheska gripped my hand as we piled into the back seat of my Bentley.

  “What’s happened?” she asked, eyes wide.

  “A shipping container has been dumped on my newest dock.”

  “Okay,” she said. “A container of what?”

  I ran my hand over the stubble on my chin. “Women,” I said and saw the question in Cheska’s eyes. “Trafficked women.”

  The colour fell from her face, then she held my hand tighter as we made for the docks. I replayed the message again. The soldiers guarding the docks had all been wiped out. Mikey, one of my generals, had gone to check on the next shipment and saw the gates were wide open, bodies fucking everywhere. He’d found the dumped shipping container, peered through a crack, and seen a fuck-ton of women in cages inside, drugged to the bloody eyeballs and stark naked.

  This was Old Sammy’s dock. He still owned it. We just paid him a truckload of money to use it. I’d had it for a few fucking weeks. That was it. And already whoever had been fucking with us had targeted it.

  Cheska was silent on the way. Her fucking birthday. The pricks had struck on her fucking birthday. As we travelled the roads, quieter because of Bonfire Night, crashes and bangs exploded around us. Cheska leaned against the window, watching the fireworks burst into the sky. But she never let go of my hand.

  Finally, we entered the road leading to the dock. I saw the gate as we passed, the hinges blown and the gates hanging wide open. I narrowed my eyes as I stared at my men dead on the ground. Cheska’s hand was shaking, and when I cut a glance her way, her eyes closed, blocking out the sight of my soldiers bleeding out on Old Sammy’s tarmac.

  The car came to a stop and the engine cut out. The car was silent. I released Cheska’s hand, needing to get out and deal with this shit, but she held on tight and shifted her arse along the back seat to my side. “I’m coming with you,” she said and lifted that fucking chin.

  Leaning over, I took her mouth in a bruising kiss, then opened the door. The sound of fireworks echoed off the docks. I made my way to Mikey and saw he’d already had soldiers stationed around, patrolling the perimeter. His eyes fixed on Cheska as I approached him, no doubt wondering who the fuck she was to me. My brothers and sisters fell into step beside me. Vera and Ronnie flanked Cheska, keeping her protected.

  The rain started falling, and my attention fell on the red shipping container. “How the fuck did that get here and no fucker saw?” Eric asked and moved closer to the container.

  “No one was left to be a witness.” Mikey blew on his hands as the fucking cold wrapped around him. He threw his thumb in the direction of the corpses being lined up along the side of the yard—our men, fucking cut down and murdered. “The next shift doesn’t come in for a couple of hours. It’s skeleton staff until then. They took them all out.”

  “Cameras?” Charlie asked, and I heard the pissed-off edge to his voice.

  “Cameras were cut, then wiped. No fucking trace of anyone.”

  I felt the telltale signs of my anger start burning in the bottom of my spine. It swept through my bones and cells until I was made of nothing but rage and fire. People were fucking petrified of us. We should have been able to leave all our docks wide open, our gear completely visible, and no fucker would take them for fear of our wrath. That was the fucking reputation I’d built since my old man had been taken down. We were the fucking London Town reapers. You fucked with us and we’d come for your fucking souls. Whoever was doing this was either new to London and or had a fucking death wish.

  I took in the dead, the fucking container, and the fact that no fucker, none of the men that I paid, had a fucking clue what the hell was going on.

  “Arthur …” Mikey shut the fuck up when he saw my face.

  I held out my arms, gesturing to the entire fucking yard, and shouted, “WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING? And why the fuck do we not already have some cunt’s he
ad on a fucking spike for fucking with the Adley firm like this?”

  Freddie was over by the container with a couple of Mikey’s crew, wrenching it open. My breath came out in fast pants, the cold turning it into white smoke. Explosions of colour blew up the fucking sky, drowning out my rage.

  “We’ll get them,” Eric said to me, and I heard the latch on the container door open. “We’ll fucking get them, Artie. No one messes with us. They can’t fucking hide forever. And when we find them, we’ll strike and tear them apart.”

  One of the men yanked open the container, and the stench from inside barrelled into us like a freight train. “Shit!” Vinnie spat, slinging his arm over his nose and mouth, his shoulders tensed, ready for a fucking battle.

  “No,” Ronnie whispered, then cut away from the rest of us. “No.” She sprinted for the container.

  “Baby! Wait!” Vera gave chase, Cheska and Betsy on her heels.

  I started storming toward them, just as a fucking explosion came from our left. I whipped my head to the docks, only to see a boat alight on the water, fire fucking blazing. The flames climbed high and the engine exploded, the noise of which was drowned out by the fireworks still flaring up above.

  “Fuck!” Charlie shouted, and my chest pulled so tight I thought it might rip the tendons. “What the bloody hell is all this?”

  Vera and Betsy were beside us again, guns drawn, ready to fight anyone who used the cover of the blast to come at us.

  I heard Ronnie scream, then turned to see Cheska and Ronnie trying to open the nearest cage. I narrowed my eyes and saw the girls inside starting to wake. “They’ve got the brand,” Ronnie said, her voice fucking laced with pain. “Get them out. Get them all out! They’ve got the brands on their backs.”

  Cheska dived forward, helping her. Another explosion sounded—another empty container on the west side of the yard burst into flames. Agonised screams cut through the chaos as some of Mikey’s crew crawled away from the explosion, trousers and coats on fire. Eric and Vinnie ran to help them.

  “Cheska!” I shouted, my voice fucking echoing around the blazing yard. “Get the fuck here!”