Andrew crashed through the living room door and sprawled onto the carpet beside the sofa. His hands were covered in blood, as were his jeans and shirt. Frankie came through the door after him, followed by the others. He kicked Andrew in the stomach before he had a chance to get up. Andrew was silent as the blow crushed his ribs and sent him reeling onto his back. Covered by blood and swollen in the face, he looked more dead than alive.
Frankie looked around and noticed that the women were now standing. Davie swallowed a lump in his throat as he waited for his brother’s reaction.
“Sit down, bitches,” Frankie ordered.
Rebecca did not sit down as instructed and instead lunged right at Frankie with her fingernails pointed out like claws. There was a deep-red lump already growing on his forehead, and Rebecca added to it by gouging two long furrows into the flesh of his cheek. The scratches began to bleed instantly, but Frankie reacted quickly. He punched Rebecca hard in her stomach and doubled her over in agony, then he pushed her by the head down to the ground. He made it look as effortless as discarding trash.
“Tie this slag up,” he ordered the twins before looking at Davie and scowling. “What the fuck, man? You were meant to be keeping these two under control.”
Davie nodded. “I’m sorry. I was distracted when you all burst in. Sorry.”
Frankie let his expression soften and walked over to his brother. Wrapping his hand around Davie’s head, he pulled him close, forehead touching forehead. “Don’t sweat it, little bro. No harm done. You just keep watching my back like you always do, and nothing will ever hurt me. You’re my good-luck charm.”
Davie hoped that wasn’t true, but was glad that his brother was not angry with him. He decided it best to try and help get things back under control again. Any chance that the women had of escaping was now gone, and there was no point working against his brother now. It was over.
Penelope was still standing aimlessly so Davie eased her back down onto the sofa, then knelt down beside Rebecca on the floor. She was lying on her side, breathing in and out rapidly and wincing in pain. Davie waited a few moments until she managed to catch her breath. Then he stroked her back and said, “Let’s get back on the sofa. If you’re quiet, Frankie might leave you alone.”
Rebecca said nothing, but she rolled herself up onto her knees and climbed back on the sofa. Her breathing was still awkward.
Dom and Jordan came over with the duct tape. “Get her to her feet, Davie.”
“She’ll be okay, lads. I’ll make sure she behaves.”
Dom shook his head. “Get her on her fucking feet, Davie. You heard your brother. He said, tie the slag up.”
Davie glanced at Rebecca who was looking back at him sadly. He couldn’t tell for sure, but something about the way she looked at him told him that she at least now understood that he had no choice in the matter. He had tried, at least.
He reached forward and pulled Rebecca’s feet onto his lap. They were small, dainty, with perfect little toes painted a deep purple. He had to force himself not to gaze further up her naked legs and beneath her nightgown. He knew little about women, but he knew not to stare.
Dom got to work, wrapping the silver duct tape around Rebecca’s ankles so tight that it made her wince. She did not complain, though. After he was done with her legs, Dom had Davie grab her wrists while he trussed them up as well.
“Do the bitch’s mouth,” said Frankie from the other side of the room. He was busy getting an unconscious Andrew back into the armchair and Michelle was helping him.
“No worries,” said Dom, happily tearing off another thick wad of tape and stamping it over Rebecca’s mouth. Jordan came forward to join his brother and squeezed one of her breasts. She tried to cry out in pain but could only mumble from behind the tape.
“Don’t worry,” Jordan said. “We’ll take the tape off later when we have a use for your mouth.”
Davie wanted to slap Jordan for saying such a horrid thing to a frightened girl, but he knew that he would just take a clobbering. He couldn’t take Dom or Jordan on his best day and their worst–and especially not with a concussion and a stomach that kept threatening to empty itself.
“Okay,” said Frankie, clapping his hands together. “Everybody nice and settled again?”
No one said anything, but all turned in his direction.
“Then I think this would be a good time to explain to everyone what happens when people don’t follow my rules.” He turned to Andrew and slapped his cheeks hard. “Stay with us, hero. I was about to tell your bitches what a fine display you put on up there.”
“What happened?” Davie asked, knowing that the answer wouldn’t be anything good.
“What happened, little bro, is that this gangster right here took a pole to my skull. Fair play, I say, but it never did him no good in the end. My knife was mightier than his pole.”
Rebecca moaned beneath the tape on her mouth, and Davie matched her reaction by stretching his eyes wide. “You stabbed him?”
Frankie shrugged. “Had no choice. Guy was out of control and needed putting down.”
“We need to go, Frankie. This is getting bad.”
“Shut the hell up, Davie,” said Michelle from Frankie’s side. “You’re such a downer all the time.”
Usually, Frankie would jump to his brother’s defence, but this time he didn’t, which Davie took as a bad sign. “Okay,” he said, not wanting to anger his brother. “What now then?”
Frankie smirked. “Glad you asked. What we’re going to do now is show Andrew the error of his ways. Man took a chunk out of my forehead. He needs to pay for that.”
“You already stabbed him,” said Davie.
Frankie nodded. “That was just to detain him. If the police catch you and give you a kicking you still go to court afterwards. They don’t take the beating required to subdue you as the punishment for the crime.”
“Yeah,” said Dom. “He still needs to be put on trial.”
“And so here we are,” said Frankie, gushing with amusement, “to preside over the people versus Mr Andrew… whatever the fuck his name is.”
“Goodman,” Davie muttered.
“What are the charges?” asked Michelle, happily playing along with the charade.
“Kiddie-fiddling, goat-fucking, and the crime of thinking his shit don’t stink.”
“How do you find?” asked Jordan, laughing till he was out of breath.
Frankie held a finger in the air to silence the room. He seemed deep in thought, but then suddenly thrust his finger at the floor and screamed the word, “GUILTY!”
“What is his punishment?” asked Dom gleefully.
Frankie put his hands together and placed his fingertips beneath his nose as if trying to gain guidance from God himself. “Through the power invested in me by the courts, I sentence this wicked man to a slow and lingering death… by torture.”
Torture–Davie repeated the word in his head three times. Then he threw up.
17
“You okay, man?” Frankie had moved over to rub Davie’s back while he continued to be sick.
Davie spat a wad of saliva onto the carpet and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I think so. Just came over me all of a sudden.”
“Must be the concussion,” Frankie suggested. “Don’t worry. He’s going to pay for what he did to you.”
Davie shook his head and looked up at his brother pleadingly. “I just want to go home. I feel rough, man. Need to go to bed.”
Frankie examined him for several seconds then nodded. “Okay, Davie. We’ll get you home to rest.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.” Frankie smiled at him warmly. “Just as soon as I’m done here. Let me finish up.”
Davie took some deep breaths and tried to calm his stomach before he spoke. “Finish up?”
Frankie leant closer and whispered in Davie’s ear. “Got to get rid of the witnesses.”
“No way,” said Davie. “You can’t be seriou
s.” He leant forward and lowered his voice so that only Frankie could hear the question he was about to ask. “You’re not really going to kill anybody, are you?”
Frankie looked at Davie and nodded very slowly, very seriously. The cold cubes of ice that were his eyes chilled Davie to the bone. He finally realised that he no longer knew the person standing in front of him. Something had changed inside of Frankie when he went to prison. He’d come back a monster. What the hell had happened to him in that young offender’s home?
“I don’t want to kill anybody,” said Davie, tears forming in his eyes.
“You don’t have to, little bro. Leave it all up to big brother. Haven’t I always looked after you?”
Davie nodded. The urge to vomit was rising up from his guts again and he fought hard to contain it.
“This is getting boring, Frankie. Let’s fuck something up.” It was Michelle. The sound of her voice was like a squealing pig to Davie’s ears. If someone really was about to die, he wished it would be her.
His upper lip curled up in a snarl. “Shut the hell up, Shell, you coked-up whore.”
Michelle marched forward and grabbed ahold of Frankie’s arm. “You going to let the little wanker talk to me like that?”
Frankie shrugged away from her grasp and turned to Davie. He let out a short laugh but looked deadly serious. “You got to learn to play nice, little bro. That was out of line, you get me?”
“Is that it?” said Michelle, stamping her feet and waving her arms like an outraged child.
Frankie slapped her across the face. It wasn’t hard enough to injure her but had enough force to knock her to the ground. “How many fucking times have I told you to leave it out, you skinny cunt?”
Michelle fell to the floor and cowered, raising her arms up to deflect any further blows. “I… I’m sorry, baby. Please…”
Frankie clicked his fingers at her. “Get the fuck up, and be quiet. You give my brother shit one more time and I’ll end you.”
Michelle nodded and hurried away to the far side of the room. Davie noticed that Dom and Jordan sat watching the television again but were keeping one eye on the argument and giggling between themselves.
Davie shook his head. You’re all just a bunch of crack heads.
“Okay,” Frankie rubbed his hands together. “It’s getting cold in here so I’m going to go and put the heating on. When I get back, it will be time to carry out sentencing. Dom, Jordan, sort your shit out and wake up. You’re sat watching the snooker championships and giggling your arses off like it’s the funniest thing you ever saw.”
Dom and Jordan suddenly looked like naughty children and hurried to their feet quickly. Frankie left the room, and Michelle ran after him, no doubt to fawn over him and try to make up. Davie sat down on the sofa between the women and worried about their fates. Penelope was still staring into space. Rebecca had let her head drop.
A garbled murmur let those in the room know that Andrew had regained consciousness. He was looking across the room at Davie through his swollen eyelids.
“Everything will be okay,” Davie told him, hating himself for lying. “We’re all going soon.”
“Yeah,” said Dom, “after we deal with your pasty, white ass.”
“Why… why do you follow him?” Andrew asked the room. Davie wasn’t sure who it was directed at, but he figured it was a valid question to each of them.
“We don’t follow no one,” said Jordan. “We just hang with Frankie cus he’s got the supply.”
“So you… help him terrorise innocent people just because he feeds you drugs?”
“That about sums it up, blud.” Jordan couldn’t help himself but laugh. “Sucks for you, huh, whitey?”
Andrew laughed, too–it was a thick, throaty sound, full of derision and disdain. “I think it sucks for you… that you let another man own your ass. You’re just Frankie’s bitches.” He broke out in even harder laughter despite the obvious difficulty he had taking in air through his crumpled nose. Dom and Jordan were furious, but also lost for words. It wasn’t very often anyone had the balls to sound off at them like that. Davie looked down at the floor and grinned.
Frankie re-entered the room carrying a tea towel that seemed to be wrapped around something. He moved to the centre of the room and placed the tea towel on the coffee table, before unravelling it to reveal a set of variously-sized knives, a corkscrew, screwdriver, and a pair of pliers.
“What are those for?” asked Davie, already knowing the answer.
Frankie sighed at his brother. “Enough with the questions. You’re giving me such a headache that I might end up being the one with a concussion.”
Dom came over and looked down at the assorted implements. He whistled. “Shit’s gunna get real, huh?”
Frankie picked up a small steel knife and examined the edge with the pad of his thumb. When he was satisfied with its sharpness, he sauntered over towards Andrew, waving it back and forth.
“You ready for sentencing, old man?”
Andrew lifted his head and looked Frankie in the eye. There was no fear in his expression anymore, only a weariness that could have been acceptance. Davie held his breath as he waited for what was to come.
Frankie pointed the knife in Andrew’s face. “Swallowed your fucking tongue?”
Andrew spat then, a mixture of blood and saliva that hit Frankie right in his face.
Frankie’s twitch went into overdrive as his face screwed up in fury. It suddenly occurred to Davie that his brother had not possessed a facial tick before he’d gone away.
Frankie placed the blade against the flesh below Andrew’s left eye. “You going to wish you never did that, gangster.”
“I don’t give a fuck,” said Andrew calmly, but his breathing was beginning to quicken, and his voice was slightly unsteady.
Frankie smiled. “We going to see how much of a fuck you don’t give, old man.” He removed the knife from Andrew’s face, turned around, and shuffled over to the sofa so that he was standing behind Penelope. “You positive I can’t make you care?”
Andrew’s swollen eyes flinched. “Don’t!”
“Don’t what?” said Frankie. “Don’t do this?”
Frankie drew the blade across the side of Penelope’s face, drawing a slick line of blood as he flayed open the flesh of her cheek. At first she made no sound, still trapped in whatever daze had imprisoned her, but then she snapped back to reality and let out a high-pitched wail that could have cracked crystal. Frankie wrapped a hand around her mouth and stifled her.
From beside Davie, Rebecca struggled to get free. He had to put both hands on her to keep her in place. He wasn’t trying to help Frankie; he was trying to help her.
“Thought you didn’t give a fuck?” said Frankie to Andrew as he etched another long slice across his wife’s face. “Looks like you care now.”
No one said anything, the air tense enough to carry electricity. Frankie continued to gag Penelope with his hand for several more minutes, finally letting go when her sobbing and moaning quieted down. She shook and trembled as he released her.
Frankie cricked his neck to the side and shuddered. “Damn, that was fun.”
“You sick fuck,” Andrew cursed him. “You sick, sick fuck!”
“Those cuts are deep, bro,” said Dom. “They ain’t never gunna heal right. Scarred for life, yo.”
Davie agreed. The cuts were thick and blood rolled down both sides of Penelope’s face. Along with her bald head, and the other abuses of the night, Davie knew that the deepest scars would be the ones inside her mind. Frankie had caused damage that no amount of therapy would ever cure.
“Can I cut someone now?” Michelle asked almost innocently. As if she was an eight-year old asking to taste her daddy’s wine.
Frankie offered out the knife. “Sure thing, sweetie.”
Michelle took the knife and immediately headed for Rebecca.
Frankie put a hand out and stopped her. “Not so fast, baby girl. No one touches
the women but me.”
Michelle’s entire face drooped. “Seriously? Come on. Just let me cut her a little bit. Slapper thinks she’s the shit. Needs bringing down a peg.”
Frankie didn’t speak. He just stared at Michelle, unblinking.
“Okay, okay,” she relented. “I’ll slice her dad then.”
She took the knife over to Andrew who looked back at her defiantly. “How did a nice girl like Charlie ever have a friend like you?” he asked.
Michelle hissed at him. “I kicked that bitch to the curb long time ago. Thought she was better than me.”
“That’s because she is.”
Michelle lashed out with the knife, hitting against Andrew’s ribs with an audible clink. The knife was small and could only have entered an inch or so, but it was more than enough to make Andrew bellow in pain.
Davie covered his ears.
“Hey,” Frankie shouted. “Watch where you’re cutting. You’ll end up killing him.”
Davie sat up straight, buoyed by his big brother’s comment. Maybe he didn’t want to kill anyone after all. Why else would he have just told Shell to be careful?
“Isn’t that what you want?” Michelle asked Frankie.
“No,” he replied. “Not yet, at least. Got to make him feel it first.”
Davie sighed. The brief glimmer of hope he’d felt faded away. This couldn’t go on any longer, surely. What more damage could Frankie do? Penelope would never be the same again and most likely neither would Andrew–if he lived. Rebecca still had a chance, though. She could still get through this in one piece if it all ended now. Davie closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and made a decision. It was time he stood up to his big brother. This had to stop now.
18
Andrew was afraid, he could not deny that, but there was strength inside him now that he’d never known existed before. The pain he’d experienced, and was still yet to experience, was not enough to break him–in fact, it had only made his resolve stronger. He wouldn’t beg, he would not plead. The hell Frankie put him through had changed something in him. He had seen into the depth of his own physical being–the depth of his soul–and knew now that he would never stop fighting for his family.
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