Refusal (The Cardigan Estate Book 3)

by Emmy Ellis

  Lavender painted on a bright smile. “Um, get him to meet me by the loos.”

  “Fair enough. Want me to hang around, make sure you’re okay?”

  “No, but thanks anyway.”

  Sid sauntered off, through both doors, and entered the bar. The bloke was still there, sipping what appeared to be whisky on ice, his head bent, a flashy phone in his other hand. Whatever was on the screen must be interesting—he didn’t even look across once Sid appeared at his side.

  “Um, Miss Sutton said to meet her by the bogs,” Sid said. “They’re that way.” He jerked his thumb to the right.

  “Ah, so she is here.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Works behind the bar?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Well, thank you very much.” Charles slid his phone away and pushed through the crowd, which didn’t part for him, so he had to tap shoulders and ask to be let past.

  Sid chuckled. The man was a posh nob, and no one in here would let the likes of him get away with calling the shots. Charles disappeared through the double doors, and Sid glanced at the massive clock on the wall, working out how long he had left before Lavender did whatever to his poor bum.

  He went back to his pint, tempted to listen in on their conversation, but made the decision not to. It was none of his business, and besides, the only information he wanted out of Lavender was where his friends were.

  Everything else could go and fuck itself.

  Chapter Five

  Lavender’s stomach rolled over at the sight of Charles. Why was he here? And, more importantly, how had he found her? She no longer lived at the address he would know, and she’d changed her home and mobile numbers, cutting out everyone from the past. Then she remembered the private detective the firm employed, and that answered the question. How come he’d gone to such effort to get hold of her, though, if indeed he’d done that? And what could be so important that he’d turned up here?

  She hadn’t seen him for three years, and he’d aged a bit. She supposed she had, too, the lines on her face put there by her fear of being found. And found she’d been, only it wasn’t the scary monster she’d expected. What would he think of her now? They’d had a six-month relationship once, got quite close. They’d parted with his assurance that whenever she was ready, he’d be there.

  Was that what he wanted? To see if she’d changed her mind?

  Surely not.

  “Aniyah, lovely to see you.” He smiled, his blue eyes lighting up.

  “Um, hi.” Awkward wasn’t the word. Her dress gave her away, she was sure of it—or was that her imagination? She didn’t look like she worked behind a bar, if that was the impression he’d got, seeing as they were in a pub.

  Someone came through the double doors from the bar, a man needing the loo. Charles glanced over his shoulder, then kept his attention on him as he passed. Once he’d disappeared, Charles coughed. He tended to do that when nervous.

  “Is there somewhere private we can go?” He gestured around them. “This is hardly an ideal area to chat. I don’t think you’ll want anyone hearing what I have to say.”

  That sounded ominous.

  “Out the back.” She walked on wobbly legs to the fire door at the end, which led to an alley behind the parlour, and that came out in the staff car park. It would have to do. No way was she chatting with him out the front. Any of her clients could see her, give away what she did now. Not that she was ashamed, but Charles wouldn’t understand. He’d say she was ‘worth more than that’, as if what she did was dirty and wrong, but she knew her worth, liked what she did. She provided a service, was needed.

  And she’d been hidden in plain sight up until now.

  The air outside had turned chilly, and she rubbed her arms, tottering down the alley in her high heels. Charles’ footsteps followed, and she stopped beside Debbie’s car so she could see down past the side of The Angel into the street. People walked by from the right, heading for the pub, and later, they’d leave it to dance the hours away in The Roxy, the nightclub. She imagined the girls standing on the corner, their watcher and protector opposite in the mouth of an alley, everything the same as usual, except it wasn’t for her.

  “What do you want?” she asked, thinking of Willa and how she got straight to the point, no messing.

  “That’s not a very nice welcome.” He laughed nervously, his teeth just about visible in the darkness.

  No, it hadn’t been, but she was on edge. A blast from the past was something she’d dreaded ever since she’d run away. “Sorry, it’s just that I’ve made a new life for myself, and the past isn’t welcome.”

  “Including me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh.”

  She could hardly say he shouldn’t be here because someone else was looking for her, out to draw her back into his nasty web, could she. He’d ask questions, say he’d help her, but what he didn’t know was, no one could help her, not with Kevin Robins. Not unless their name was Debbie.

  “That sounded rude,” she said. “It’s not that you’ve done anything, but sometimes you have to move on, really move on.”

  She remembered moving on in her childhood and how good it had been, if riddled with guilt and loss every now and then, but cutting ties was the best all round sometimes.

  “I see,” he said.

  “So, can you say what’s up then go?” She folded her arms, needing the comfort of a self-cuddle. After all, there was no one else to give her one, and that was why she’d laid her head on Debbie’s earlier, needing the touch of a human being other than her clients.

  “Okay, the surroundings aren’t exactly what I envisaged while telling you this—who’d imagine we’d speak in a car park?” He chortled. “I rather thought it’d be at a restaurant or in your home but—”

  “Get on with it, will you?” God, she was more Lavender than Aniyah nowadays, and that was fine by her. If she was Lavender, she could handle anything. Aniyah, not so much. Aniyah had been Kevin’s bitch, Lavender most certainly wasn’t.

  “Right, well, I can see you’re not into small talk anymore.” Charles cleared his throat. “An interesting thing happened, and while no one else in the firm felt it was odd, I did.”

  Her belly flipped, and she gritted her teeth, wanting to shout: “Fucking hurry up!”

  “Some fellow came in, asking for you. To represent him, he said. I informed him you no longer worked there, and he asked where you’d gone. Of course, I didn’t know—and that’s not a jibe—so I told him that. He…didn’t seem to believe me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, he pushed me up against the wall by the water cooler, gripped my shirt and tie, and said if I didn’t tell him where you’d gone, I’d ‘know all about it’. Most disturbing.”

  She imagined Charles flustered, his mouth flapping as he’d tried to find the right words, so different from how he appeared in court. They’d both played roles, confident and assured in front of the judge, yet, as with all people, insecurities and life in general meant deep down, they were the same as anyone else. He would have been afraid, brought up as he was with a solid silver spoon for his cornflakes, and she felt sorry for him. Especially as it was her who’d brought that man into his life.

  “What did he look like?” she asked.

  “See, that’s the funny thing. It was that man, can’t think of his name, but he was in court for the Kevin Robins case. A friend, perhaps, maybe a brother. The ginger one…”

  Lavender’s world spun.

  “…and I recall him because of that scar on his earlobe. Do you remember me saying about it, how we joked he’d had his ear sliced because he’d annoyed someone, considering the circles Robins floated in?”

  Yes, she remembered, and she’d seen it often after the case. Charles had had a run-in with Johnny Black, Kevin’s right-hand man. Kevin must still be looking for her, like he’d promised.

  ‘You’ll never get away from me, bitch, never…’

&n
bsp; She shuddered, the memory ingrained in her head, crawling out of the hole she’d stuffed it into, spreading to fill her mind, a stain on her present life. It was all she could see, Kevin’s expression full of spite, his teeth bared, spittle landing on her face every time he hissed words.

  “I see,” she managed, praying she seemed calm. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

  “I assured him again that I had no idea where you’d gone, that you’d moved out of your place—I’d been round there shortly after you left the firm, you know, to see if you’d changed your mind about us, and a neighbour said you’d gone.”

  “I haven’t changed my mind.”

  “I don’t suppose you have.” He sounded wistful.

  There was nothing she could do about that. Even if she did still have feelings for him, wanted to dive back into their relationship, she couldn’t. Not now Johnny had shown his face. It proved she was still on Kevin’s radar, that he hadn’t got bored with trying to find her.

  “When did this happen? Today?” She eyed a couple snogging in the street. How lovely to be able to do that, be with someone without the fear of them getting caught up in your mess.

  “Oh no, last month.”

  “What? And you’re only just telling me now?”

  “See, that’s the thing. I put it to the back of my mind when I let our colleagues—my colleagues, sorry—know what had happened, as they said he probably wanted representation, just got a bit lairy about it, and as you’d got Robins off, he only wanted you. It was when he returned, this morning, that I knew we had a problem.”

  We? No, she had a problem. Her stomach played up again. Not only had Charles told her they were after her, but she’d heard on the grapevine anyway, hence asking for Debbie’s help. While Kevin and his men didn’t know where she lived or worked yet, it was only a matter of time. She had to get to Kevin first.

  Or Debbie did. Lavender didn’t know the first thing about killing someone—unless you counted the clients she’d represented, telling her their stories, or the tales she’d listened to at Kevin’s.

  God, if only she hadn’t taken on his case.

  “This morning,” she said. “And what happened there?” Her arms ached where she gripped herself so hard.

  “I nipped out to the Tesco Express over the road, to get us all a cream cake at lunch time—you remember how it is. He was outside our building, the ginger fellow, leaning on the wall, just waiting.”

  She imagined the Volton, Hemmingway, and Schuster offices, seeing Johnny slouched against the bricks, casual, as if he’d never hurt anyone. But she knew different. She shivered, wishing she had a coat, a chilly breeze rippling over her bare skin, bringing on goosebumps—and not just from the breeze either. “And?”

  “He stuck his leg out, the damn bastard. I tripped, but he caught me by the arm and carted me off down the side of the building. Said in no uncertain terms that I had to find out where you were or he’d kill me.”

  “Did you believe him?”

  “Unfortunately, yes, as he had a knife to my throat at the time.”

  Oh shit. Her life wasn’t supposed to spill out into other people’s, especially not Charles’, and guilt ripped into her at what he’d been through because of her. “I’m sorry that happened.”

  “Well, so am I, but it did, so there we go. He left, saying he’d be back next week—I suppose he thought he was gracious, giving me time to find you.”

  “Did you use the firm’s PI?”

  “Of course I did. How else would I have done it?”

  “So if he found me so easily, that ginger man might.”

  “I would imagine so. Look, what’s going on? What did you really leave the firm for? Why give up a job you love—and were damn good at? It doesn’t make sense, Aniyah, it really doesn’t.”

  “There were reasons, ones I won’t go into, and…and I’ll sort the issue. You won’t be hearing from him again.”

  “I should jolly well hope not. It was quite frightening.”

  Despite the desperate situation, she smiled at his posh accent. An Eton boy, a well-to-do man with hair that flopped forward if he didn’t sweep it back with product. A bloke with a good heart—a big one, too—who’d come here to warn her instead of phoning the police.

  There was no way she could have the police involved.

  “So I have a week from today,” she mused.

  “Seems so. Is there anything I can help you with?”

  She thought about it, but only for a second. “Yes, just keep your mouth shut about me working here. Don’t tell anyone you’ve seen me, not even the people at the firm.”

  “This is all rather cloak and dagger, Aniyah.”

  “That’s what my world has become.”

  She walked away, towards the fire door, and entered the building, closing it behind her. Charles could find his way out of the car park, out of her life.

  He couldn’t afford to be in it.

  Chapter Six

  Kevin was on tenterhooks, awaiting news about Aniyah. She’d flitted out of his life without warning, after promising she’d stay. He’d loved her for ages, from afar, and when he’d got into a spot of bother that he couldn’t sweep under the carpet, he’d remembered she’d become a solicitor. He’d fallen for her, had the urge to keep her however he could, and the plan to frighten her into staying by his side had been born.

  Maybe he should have done it differently. She’d probably still be with him now if he had. That said, he was a criminal, and she wasn’t, so no, whether she grew to love him or not, their relationship couldn’t have gone anywhere.

  Jerry had told him once: ‘You can have it all, whatever you want.’

  That was bullshit.

  He switched his mind to tonight’s fun and games. His idea to have his men pick up the homeless and bring them to his house had come from what Cricket had done. Kevin needed an outlet for all his anger, and men no one gave a shit about provided the perfect whipping post. Maybe his years of doing bad shit for Jerry had turned his head, and now he was the leader, he didn’t get his hands dirty as much—except with the scrotes off the streets. He got his kicks that way.

  That was another reason why Aniyah had run.

  Why the fuck did I play it the way I did? Why did I think frightening her would work?

  He left the meeting room, his men having a well-earned break with a bottle of whisky. Time alone was essential for Kevin—well, with whichever man was in the attic at the time. He wandered upstairs, then on to the second set of steps that led to the torture room. There was no other name for it, and he preferred telling it like it was.

  He took a bunch of keys out of his pocket and inserted the largest into the lock. Anger at someone else using his spares one time to set a man free coiled in his gut. It happened every time he unlocked this door, and he still didn’t know which one of his men had done it. Now, the spares were in his safe, not in the key cupboard on his kitchen wall. He wouldn’t be falling for that again.

  A groan came from behind the door, and he opened it, pushing it wide so it banged against the wall, panicking the man.

  Twenties, long scraggly hair, a matted beard. Fuck, anything could be living in that. Fleas, whatever. Kevin shuddered, his anger building. He hated homeless people, had seen so many during his time on the streets working for Jerry. What were they there for? Why couldn’t they have worked for a better life? Why choose to lay your head on concrete and beg for food?

  No passion, no drive, no goals.

  Useless bastards.

  The bright light was always left on, and it shone down on the fella, showcasing him in all his gross glory. Tatty clothes, the main event a khaki-coloured overcoat with stains of all descriptions. Boots, scuffed all over, one without a lace. Combat trousers, ripped on one knee. A scarf, burgundy, wrapped around his neck twice.

  A corrupt sight.

  The room was soundproofed, had concrete walls, and resembled a prison cell. A locked cupboard set in the wall, a safe of
sorts, held the numerous things Kevin needed. There was a slim camp bed with a blanket on top. A radiator that may or may not spew out heat, depending on Kevin’s mood. A toilet in the corner beside a sink. A shower in the corner, wet-room style, a drain in the floor to take away the disgusting water. Well, this fella hadn’t taken advantage of the latter, had he. He had a filthy face and hands, and he hadn’t even used the comb provided, which sat between the sink taps along with a toothbrush and paste.

  He’d lost all hope, it seemed.

  Good.

  The man blinked then stared at Kevin, his first time seeing him. Kevin’s men had dealt with him—the snatch, the drive here, the bundling of him up two flights of stairs, the order to get cleaned up, you manky bastard.

  What did he think of Kevin’s fancy suit and shoes, the groomed hair, the clean-shaven chin? The smell of aftershave—was it foreign to him now, or had it been something he’d smelt on passersby, people who didn’t stop to throw coins in his empty ice cream tub that he’d filched from a bin?

  That tub was beside him now, a few coins inside, coppers, silver, and some generous wanker had given him a fiver.

  Kevin wasn’t a thief of money, so if the man survived, he’d get to keep it.

  “What’s your name?” Kevin asked.

  “Martin.”

  “Hello, Martin.” Kevin smiled.

  “W-why am I here?” Martin squinted again.

  “For my enjoyment.”

  Martin shook his head. “I’m not gay.”

  “It’s not that kind of enjoyment. Please undress.”

  Martin’s mouth fell open. “But you said…”

  “I assure you, no sex is involved. Just do as I say, and you’ll come out of this and be returned to where you came from.” Kevin took a knife from the inside pocket of his jacket. “Do I need to get angry at this point in the proceedings?”

  Martin struggled to his feet. “Please, please, take me back.”

  “No.” Kevin wafted the knife. “Do. As. You. Are. Told.”