Читать книгу The Rules: A gripping crime thriller that will have you hooked - Kerry Barnes - Страница 11

CHAPTER THREE

Kendall tossed her rucksack over her bare shoulder and trundled off towards the station. It was approaching ten o’clock and the next train to Orpington was in three minutes. If she wasn’t outside the station in half an hour, her father wouldn’t wait; he’d made that crystal clear.

A surge of commuters barged past her, leaving little room to swerve in and out to make the train. The whistle blew, and just as the doors began to close, Kendall managed to slip sideways and squeeze in. Her exposed arms and neck were coated in a sheen of sweat. Removing her rucksack, she flopped onto the only empty seat. With her head down, she plugged her earphones in and took a few deep breaths.

The packed carriage sent her into a panic attack. She hated closed spaces, yet she detested people more, especially strangers. Her music stopped: the battery on her phone had just died. Reluctantly, removing the plugs from her ears, she heard two women whispering to each other. It was clear from the way they were glancing her way that she was the focus of their attention. ‘Yeah, she’s probably one of those Goth people,’ one said. ‘Ya know, all into the Devil.’

Kendall looked up, and her eyes narrowed. Two chubby women were standing, while holding on to the bar above to maintain their balance. One of them, wearing a lemon cotton dress, was exposing a hairy armpit. The sweat stains darkened the fabric and it turned Kendall’s stomach. She was about to retaliate with a smart comment, but she didn’t want to draw attention to herself. Instead, she offered an enchanting smile and hid her petulance like an invisible veil. Both the women reddened and looked away in embarrassment.

Kendall inwardly sighed. Why did people assume she was a Goth or was even into devil worshipping? She couldn’t help that she was naturally pale or the fact that her hair was overly dark. Black was her favourite colour, and she felt most comfortable wearing it. The black boots she wore improved her high instep and the faded dark-grey T-shirt with the skull and crossbones was just to piss her mother off; other than that, she wasn’t a Goth at all. She could have slipped on a floral dress and some pretty kitten heels and had her hair in a neat plait, but why should she? Rebecca had her little dolly in the form of her younger sister, Brooke. One doll-like girl was quite enough in the family.

A sudden thought had Kendall gently feeling her cheek. The slap from her mother had actually hurt quite a bit, and she hadn’t checked to see if it had caused any swelling. She didn’t think it had, but, in some ways, she wished it had. At least when she met her father, she could show him, in the hope that he would feel guilty.

Her father was a no-nonsense man with a tough exterior. She admired him even though she wasn’t sure if she actually liked him. Perhaps it was because they were so much alike, and the complete opposite of her mother. She mused over the idea of her parents ever being together again, let alone getting married. They really were like chalk and cheese. Her mother, with her particular ways, bordering on OCD and ensuring everything was perfect, even down to the way she spoke, really grated on Kendall. She would cringe and almost squint her eyes when her mother made the most ridiculous demands like ‘Make sure you greet my guests politely.’ Then there was the other one: ‘Sit up like a lady.’ She wondered if at any age her mother would consider her a woman. Yet Rebecca spoke to everyone as if they were children. Her campaigners, her housekeeper, her personal assistant, yes – but not Alastair. Never him – he was the vocal one, the head of the family who dished out the orders when Rebecca wasn’t around. How ironic was that? she thought. Would her constituency supporters and those who voted for her still have faith in her, their local MP, if they could really see how feeble she was under Alastair’s watchful eye?

The little respect she did have for her mother went out of the window the day she had arrived to take her out of her father’s care. She’d heard the whispers and the undertones. Rebecca’s career was flying, and there must be no dirty laundry aired, no matter what.

The train came to a stop, and the bleeping as the doors opened brought Kendall out of her thoughts. She joined the queue of departing passengers. In flinging her rucksack over her shoulder, she deliberately managed to catch the woman with the sweaty armpits in the face.

‘Careful, young lady!’ she hissed, to which Kendall turned and smiled – devilishly.

Opposite the taxi rank and through the hordes of people, Kendall could just make out a black BMW. She hurried over with a genuine smile; it was the first one in a long time.

The blacked-out window slowly opened and there with mirrored sunglasses and a dazzling smile was her father. ‘Quick, Kenny!’

She had no sooner sat on the cool leather seat than he pulled away. ‘Ease up, Dad, will you? I haven’t even shut the bleeding door!’

‘Shut ya whining and buckle up. I can’t get pulled over by the Ol’ Bill.’

Kendall threw her rucksack behind her and put her seatbelt on.

‘Right, I just need to pop in the pub. It’s not far from here. I’ll only be two minutes, and then we can have a chat.’

Kendall felt her heart sink. Typical. Why could he never drop everything just once for her? She wondered who was best at being indifferent to her. Was it her mother or her father? She noticed him look her way and shake his head in disapproval. She wasn’t sure if that look of disdain was because of what she looked like or whether he was into telepathy. He had an uncanny ability of getting inside her mind.

‘What?’ she snapped as she sensed her father’s dismay.

‘How old are you now? What? Twenty-one?’ The smoky edge to his voice, implying he was annoyed, left an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of her stomach. She hated the tension when he was moody. And he had a knack of being unpredictable with his temperament.

‘Twenty, but shouldn’t you know that? I thought you were there at the birth?’

‘Oi, don’t get fucking lippy!’ he growled. ‘What’s with the fucking rebel T-shirt and studs in ya ears? Are you some kinda biker, or are you still acting like a kid? What’s that fucking Meat Loaf bollocks spread across ya chest?’

Kendall laughed. ‘Aw, this? This little number? I only wear it just to get right up Mother’s nose.’

She sensed his mood lift.

‘Still got her big bugle stuck in the air or up her arse, has she?’

‘She slapped me one today.’ Her voice was a mere whisper.

‘No doubt you deserved it, Kendall. Anyway, what was it for?’

‘I told her Alastair was a creep!’

With a sudden raucous laugh, her father started to cough, tears now filling his eyes, as he tried to clear his throat. ‘Fuck me. I would’ve loved to ’ave been a fly on the wall. I can just see her snooty face, like a bulldog chewing a wasp, eh?’

‘Well, yeah, something like that. She wasn’t a happy bunny, that’s for sure.’

Ten minutes into their drive, they turned into a residential side street and arrived outside a small pub that nestled in between a row of two-up two-down houses.

‘Wait here!’ he demanded, as he leaped from the car that was still ticking over and carelessly parked in the middle of the road.

The street was narrow. Kendall looked behind her, hoping that no other vehicle wanted to pass, as there was no room. Left alone, she idly popped open the glove compartment and pulled out three CDs and looked at the covers: Madness, The Specials, and Bad Manners. She smiled to herself. The titles spoke volumes about her dad’s taste in music and perhaps his warped sense of humour. As she opened the Madness case to play one of the titles, she found to her shock and horror that there was no disc at all; instead, she was looking at transparent bags of white powder. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. Quickly, she opened the Bad Manners case; again, she found a similar quantity of what she could only guess were drugs. Her eyes shot back to the pub door. She shoved the CD cases back into the glove compartment and slammed the lid shut; yet it sprung open. It took three attempts before it would shut properly, and by this time, her heart was almost beating outside her chest. Christ, my dad’s a dealer, she said to herself.

Her inquisitive nature pushed her to look down in the footwell of the driver’s side, and there, just like in the gangster films, she saw a metal cosh. The centre console was another temptation, and her hands trembled; if she opened the lid, would she find a gun too? Just as she was about to go for it, she was distracted by the pub door opening. And there, taking up the doorframe, stood her father. Suddenly, she was seeing him in a different light. As if she was a gangster herself, she, like her father, scanned the surroundings. Was anyone watching?

He hurried over, opened the door, and threw a white cotton bag onto the back seat and pulled away. Kendall, still in gangster style, looked behind her at the building from which her father had just left. There, standing half in and half out of the doorway, scribbling something on a piece of paper, was a man almost the same size as her father.

‘Dad, a bloke back there is taking down your number plate, I think.’

Without a word, he looked in the rear-view mirror and came to a halt. Ramming the gear into reverse, he put his foot down and tore all the way back. He didn’t even close the door behind him after he’d jumped out, and before she knew it, he had pushed his way through some customers entering the pub. Within no time at all, he was dragging the man out and onto the pavement.

Kendall watched in horror as her father had the man in a headlock, clearly intending to smash the granny out of him. A mist of blood sprayed the wall. Her father didn’t stop, even after the man was out cold on the pavement; he continued to kick him deliberately and methodically. It sent Kendall’s blood cold, just watching her dad acting so mercilessly in full view of any residents who might be watching what was going on.

Kendall shook from head to toe; never in her life had she seen such a violent fight. No. Wrong. It wasn’t a fight. The guy had stood no chance whatsoever. Unsure whether to get out and run or just stay put, her indecision was halted when two other men came hurtling along the road, both of them wielding metal tools. Her father didn’t see them behind him. Kendall knew she would have to act quickly or watch her father being beaten to death. Making a spur-of-the-moment decision, she opened the centre console compartment, thinking that maybe there was a gun. What she would have done with it though was another matter. Her eyes tried to focus on a metal canister. She snatched it, popped the lid, and jumped from the car, hoping that the pepper spray was as effective as it was claimed to be.

One of the men who was tooled up managed to whack her father on the back, but just as the other one went to follow suit, she appeared like a whippet on speed and used all her strength to push down on the nozzle of the can and spray it directly into the two guys’ faces. Her father, who had been knocked to the side by the heavy blow, turned to see his daughter. In her Goth outfit and brandishing his can of pepper spray, she looked wild and fearsome as she went for his attackers in a rage. Suddenly, with their hands over their eyes, they backed off, coughing and spluttering. Doubled over, they gasped for breath as saliva ran from their mouths and snot poured from their nostrils.

He pulled her arm down and removed the can. She stumbled back in total shock and looked at the devastation. The two men were almost choking to death, and the man on the ground was bloodied and lifeless. Her father dragged her away. ‘Get in the car!’

Numbed by the event, she hurriedly did as he told her. He wasted no time in pulling away. Once again, Kendall looked behind her and this time there were a few customers peering out from inside the pub. She guessed they had stayed there while the fight ensued; it was none of their business. She knew then her father was a very dangerous man. Controlling her breathing, she wanted to appear unfazed; really, though, the experience had left her traumatized. She could have laughed out loud with hysteria, but, again, her veil of silence was her best form of protection. Like her, her father said nothing; instead, he drove like a bat out of hell until, finally, they were on a main road, heading for God knows where.

She wasn’t going to be the one who broke the silence. This was a world so far removed from her own, but, strangely, as the shock wore off, she felt an inner excitement. Her father, a hard-core gangster, it was laughable until she realized that what she’d seen had been anything but a laugh. In fact, if the truth be known, it had been terrifying. But she’d been an essential part of that. If she hadn’t been there for her father, he could have been seriously hurt or worse. She may have just saved her father’s life, so she wondered how he would regard her now. Surely, he would have some respect for her, wouldn’t he? She really wasn’t sure what to think.

‘You’ve been searching through my motor, haven’t you?’ he asked her coldly.

She hadn’t expected that! ‘Lucky I fucking did, ’cos I think I saved your life.’

A laugh escaped from his mouth and he said with an evil grin, ‘It would take more than those pair of mugs to kill me. I’ve pushed bigger cunts than that out of the way to get to a fight.’

Those words chilled her bones. She knew then he was capable of far worse, and her illusion of being his hero was immediately shot down, but she wanted some acknowledgement – at least a verbal pat on the back – for her timely rescue act. Yet the look on her father’s face told her she had as much chance as a snowball in hell.

‘But—’

‘Next time, do as you’re told. Any more sauce, and you can get out and walk home!’

‘But, I’m not a kid,’ she replied, now hurt by what she saw as a patronizing remark.

‘You are when you’re in my company. Got it?’

‘Where are we going?’ she asked, deciding to change the subject.

He flashed her a quick smile, and then he sighed. He could see just from his daughter’s expression that his words had hurt her. And the fact was she’d pulled off a fucking blinder back there at the pub. He was amazed by her quick thinking and courage to confront men who were seriously dangerous. But he wasn’t going to tell her that and let her think she was invincible.

‘Listen up, Kendall. I know you wanna move in with me, and I want nothing more than to get back at ya mother for what she did to us, but the plain fact is that ya can’t.’

She turned her face away, staring out of the side window, his words whirling around inside her head. He was so cold. Did he not realize what he’d just said? Her idea was that he would have her move in with him just to piss her mother off, as in some type of emotional revenge. It was a solid plan and she honestly thought he would go for it. She would have in his position. What the hell has happened to my dad? she thought. Well, if he was that stand-offish and callous, then why should she worry about worming her way into his affections. She blinked away the start of tears and cleared her throat. ‘So, Dad, you’re a drug dealer, I take it?’

He cast a speculative glare, stubbornly ignoring her, and pulled into a McDonald’s drive-thru on the A20. Once he’d put the handbrake on, he turned his whole body to face her. With an unreadable expression, he hissed, ‘You may think because you’re my kid, that you fucking know me. Well, ya can get that notion right out of ya head! Ya know fuck all, and, ya know what, Kendall? That’s just how I like it.’

Her breath locked in her throat. Glancing over at him, his eyes were empty. There was not a trace of compassion on his face, nothing at all. She swallowed hard, now believing that every flash of a smile he’d shot her wasn’t a warm expression of endearment but a fake and almost sarcastic gesture. At that precise moment, she learned he wasn’t who she thought he was. Maybe the years of separation had conjured up a dreamlike portrait of this wonderful loving father, a father who was left out in the cold, his child ripped away from him. But, obviously, she’d been living in a fantasy world, dreaming of her ideal father, not the one who was sitting next to her with that curled lip and an expression that told her she was a nobody in his life.

Hurt and angry, she wasn’t going to let it go. ‘I get it, Dad, you are into something dangerous, and you don’t want me to know or be a part of your life so that I don’t get caught up in it, or, worse, hurt.’

His face lit up and flushed red, as a laugh left his mouth. ‘Jesus, fucking shit! You really are fucking clueless, ain’t ya?’ He shook his head and laughed again. ‘I’m gonna take you back to the station.’

Now fuming that her father had the gall to laugh in her face, she spat back, ‘Spineless!’

‘You fucking what?’ he growled.

‘You heard, Dad. You’re fucking spineless. You should have fought to keep me, and now I’m old enough to leave home and live with you, you really haven’t got the guts to fight her, have you?’

Suddenly, she saw a threat in his gaze and her heart beat wildly. ‘Do you know what? You’re actually right. I haven’t got a clue. Just take me back to the station, you get on with your drug peddling, and I’ll find my own fucking way in life, without you and my stupid twat of a mother.’

Suddenly, the tables had turned. Jesus, I hadn’t expected that rebuke, he thought. His face fell as he blew out a deep sigh.

‘Okay, listen. My life ain’t all about that. My business is my fucking business that you have no clue about, so get the notion of drugs and dealing outta ya head. It ain’t what you think, but, see, herein is where the problem lies. You see a small picture and blow it up into a full-length feature film, and that, Kenny, I can’t fucking ’ave . . . But I’ll tell ya what I’ll do. I have a flat above the hairdresser’s in Petts Wood. You can have it with my blessing. You’re twenty, I know, even though that mother of yours has demanded you stay under her roof until you pay back all you owe, so it’s time you grew up. Next week, I’ll meet you at the Daylight Inn and I’ll give you the keys. Have ya got a job lined up?’

Wow! She hadn’t seen that coming. In wide-eyed excitement, her thoughts rapidly processed the idea of having her own pad. But then she felt her elation plummet. She didn’t have a job because her mother had put a stop to that. Shoving job applications right under her nose every five minutes, demanding she put herself forward for positions at legal firms, had driven her mad: she really had no interest in any of them.

‘I can work for you. Dad, you can trust me.’

He laughed again. ‘Kenny, I trust no one, and I mean no one. Let’s be honest, you may be my kid, but I don’t even know you. And, for all I know, she could have you clocking my every fucking move – the sly bitch.’

‘But why would she do that, Dad? I mean, she’s got her life with Alastair and the girls, a big house, and the poxy career of her dreams.’

Kendall clocked the tightness in his face melt away, as his green eyes clouded over, and his heavy brows dropped.

‘You really have led quite a sheltered life . . . ’ He paused. ‘Maybe it was for the best.’

A sudden urgency to know what he meant urged her to push for an explanation. ‘Come on, Dad, give me some clue as to what you mean? I at least deserve that. For fuck’s sake, I didn’t ask to be born into this family, or any fucking family.’

The serious tone in her voice made him sit up like a soldier. ‘Your mother hasn’t worked hard for her career, ya know, she was forced into it. Yeah, she loves the status, but, in truth, she’s just a face, behind a puppetmaster.’

Kendall chewed the inside of her mouth in contemplation. ‘Who’s the puppetmaster, then?’

A stubborn silence lingered a few moments before he huffed. ‘Look, Kendall, forget I said that. Yeah, ya mother has a good career. That aside, as much as you find her a toffee-nosed irritant, she’s still ya mother. You can have the flat . . . But I need to get going, so I’ll drop you off back at the station.’

***

It had been a month since Mike had been reunited with his son, and as he awoke before the buzzer sounded, he looked across at him sleeping. He had done the same thing every morning. Eleven years of believing Ricky was dead had left him with a constant feeling of worry. He watched his son’s soft-skinned face and floppy hair glow from the sun shining in through the small toughened glass window. His heart skipped a beat with excitement that beside him was his boy, his reason for living.

As much as his son put a loving smile on his face, in the back of his mind, there were thoughts of revenge that ate away at him. Dez Weller. He was the monster who had burned nearly every one of his photos of Ricky when Mike believed he was dead. And within hours of his arrival at Maidstone Prison, he’d found this bastard with a knife at his son’s throat. That was resolved, but then he discovered that Weller wanted Ricky as his bitch. Revenge for the latter abomination should have been a given but it wasn’t safe enough. He now had too much to lose; his liberty was paramount to ensure he’d be on the outside with his family, where he could protect them.

The last twelve years had been a whirlwind of frustration. Not being able to help his girlfriend Zara Ezra when she’d seemingly disappeared off the planet, and powerless to do anything to find his son, were not the normal kinds of challenges of life for anyone, and he rightly felt that he’d had more than his fair share.

Ricky stirred, and his eyes fluttered open. ‘Morning, Dad.’

Mike was sitting upright in just his boxer shorts. At forty-five years old, he was as solid as any younger man in his twenties. He smiled. ‘Did ya sleep well?’

Ricky nodded. ‘Yeah. Actually, I’ve slept like a baby ever since we shared a cell.’

Mike laughed. ‘I thought as much. Cor, you can’t half snore.’

‘You can talk,’ said Ricky, jokingly. ‘I’m gonna have a shower and then see what job they’ve assigned for me. I bet it’s mopping floors again.’

Ricky quickly pushed the sheet away and sat up straight. His fringe bounced, covering his eyes.

Mike watched him, remembering the six-year-old with his messy hair. Really, he was still the same. ‘Wait for me, Ricky . . . ’

‘Dad, honestly, I’ll be fine. Dez gives me a wide berth now, and his mates don’t even look me way. As for Tatum and Tyrone, I ain’t seen much of ’em.’

Mike stood up and reached for his tracksuit bottoms neatly folded at the end of the metal bedstead. ‘I ain’t taking any chances, though.’

‘Listen, Dad, I get it, right? But when I first arrived ’ere, I didn’t know anyone, and I was scared. When I lived with me muvver, she let Tatum and Tyrone do what they liked to me. I had no one to go running to. So, I accepted what life had in store. I couldn’t argue or fight back because the minute I did, I would’ve had Tatum’s three sons on me back. And Muvver always sided with Tatum. When Dez started bullying me, I was back in the same situation. I had no one to back me up, except Willie, but now I’ve got you. Having my family back means I can stick up for myself because I have protection. I can be who I want to be now.’

Mike could feel the lump in his throat. Ricky hadn’t gone into too much detail of what his life had been like. Mike believed that his son was saving him from further heartache. The thought of his boy feeling alone was enough to cripple him. And now he was worried because inside prison the rules were not the same. The sly dig with a shiv could end anyone’s life, not least his son’s. The likes of Dez wouldn’t go a single round in the boxing ring: he would be too underhanded. Just the sideways glance from the Yardie’s shifty eyes made Mike nervous – not for himself, but for his son.

‘I’m going for a shower anyway.’

Ricky’s smile reached his eyes and deepened his dimple. ‘Okay, Dad. I’ll see ya there.’

Just as Mike stepped outside the cell, Lou appeared with a smile that showed his back teeth. ‘I’ve just been down to reception to collect me mail, and it looks like ya nan’s gone overboard again.’ He looked over at Ricky. ‘You’ve got a whack of gear down there. They’re all fancy labels an’ all.’

Slowly getting up from his bed, Ricky frowned. ‘What, more clothes? Jeez, me nan’s right spoiling me, eh?’

Mike popped back inside the cell and laughed. ‘You wait until you get out of ’ere. She’ll have you up Oxford Street kitting you out in whatever the hell ya like and . . . ’ He paused and gave a cheeky grin. ‘Pops will be taking you shopping too, but not for clothes.’

Ricky’s eyes widened; he was so excited, but he never predicted what his father would say next.

‘The new BMW model’s out soon, and he thinks it has ya name written all over it.’

Like an electric shock, Ricky jolted. ‘What?’ His skin suddenly became covered in goose bumps. ‘No way. Oh my God! A BMW? That’s way too much.’

Lou shook his head. ‘I bet that’s just the start as well, trust me. Ricky, your grandparents will want to give you the world and quite rightly so. You’ve twelve years of catching up to do, mate. Me, I’d soak it up and savour every bit of it.’

Ricky’s eyes returned to look at his father. ‘But that’s such a lot. A new car. Wow! I never thought. Well, what I mean is . . . I can’t believe my life could go from nothing to now this.’

‘Well, get bloody used to it, Son. You’ll never go without again. So, start thinking about which motor you’d really like, and when we get out, you can go on one of those intensive driving courses and get ya licence. You can cruise around in a nice set of wheels, a pair of Ray-Bans, and all the designer clothes ya can wear.’

Ricky lowered his gaze. ‘Dad, I’m not really into all that designer gear. I’d be happy with clothes that actually fitted, and, to be honest, I’d feel better if I could work for my money.’ He looked up and grinned. ‘Let me on the firm, Dad . . . Well, I ain’t gonna be a lawyer, am I?’

Lou shuffled uncomfortably. This was really a private conversation and one best left for Mike. ‘Look, I’ll catch ya later.’

Mike sat back down on the bed. ‘Listen to me, sunshine. I’ve enough money for us to live more than comfortably, and there’s no need for you to go down the same road as me. It’s hard, ruthless, and extremely dangerous. Look at the boys and me. We had a target on our back for years.’ He paused for a moment and sighed. ‘No doubt there’ll be another firm wanting to muscle in. It’s always gonna be dog eat dog in our world, and I don’t want that for you.’

With a stern face, Ricky replied, ‘I understand that, Dad. Really, I do. But what if it’s what I want? I’m eighteen now. Don’t I get a say in this?’

‘Sorry, Son, if I sounded a bit controlling, but, surely, you can see I’m looking out for ya, can’t ya?’

Ricky’s face relaxed. ‘I know, Dad. Sorry. The thing is, I’m a crook, not by my choice, but by my own muvver’s selfishness, so I don’t know much else. I don’t want to be a thief robbing innocent people’s houses, though. I hated it, every bloody single second of it, but I hate the authorities too. I mean, where were they when I was growing up? ’Cos they sure as hell never looked out for me.’

Mike felt his son’s pain again and this time he gave him a hug. ‘All right, let me think about it. I’m sure we can find you something to do that won’t put your liberty at risk and also make ya a bit of money. You’ve probably got a sharp eye and could show us oldies a thing or two.’

‘All I did with Tatum’s lot was watch and listen. I didn’t spend any time talking. The funny thing is when you can’t speak, people assume that you’re deaf as well.’

‘Well, let’s get out of this dump first and get back to normality and then make a decision. In the meantime, ya deserve a nice car, so start thinking about which one ya fancy. No ifs or buts.’

Ricky’s face glowed, and he chuckled. ‘Righto, chief.’

With a towel over his shoulder, Mike winked and was gone, leaving Ricky to get ready and daydream about driving a car.

After a few moments, Ricky was pulled from his fantasy by the dark, daunting face of Dez, peering into the cell. He immediately jumped to his feet. A week ago, he would have been shaking all over, terrified of the man, but not today. ‘What the fuck do you want?’ he brazenly hollered.

Dez looked sheepish. It was an expression that probably most of the inmates hadn’t been privy to. ‘Look, no beef, bro, yeah?’

‘Fuck off. No beef? Bro? I ain’t ya bro. You’re only here because ya know me ol’ man wants to fuck you up.’

The cold, cocky words leaving Ricky’s mouth left Dez totally shocked. It was more than a stark contrast to the timid boy who’d only arrived a few weeks ago. Dez’s eyes were on stalks, and for a moment, he was rattled. ‘All right, Ricky, I was just being straight up and apologizing for upsetting you, that’s all.’

Ricky stepped forward with a new-found stance, square shoulders, and with his head up. ‘Upsetting me? You held a knife to me throat. You wanted to use me as a woman. You’re fucking disgusting. Now go and shove your apologies up your arse, or me ol’ man will do it for ya.’

Dez daringly looked Ricky up and down. ‘So that’s it, is it? A threat using ya ol’ man’s name? A real man wouldn’t threaten me with someone else.’

Just as Dez was about to turn and walk away, Ricky spat, ‘No, a real man would rip you a new arsehole, but I would rip your head off!’

With an anger emerging, Dez gripped the doorframe and glowered at Ricky. As much as he was afraid of Mike, he wasn’t going to let a kid talk to him like that, not after seeing the boy as a pathetic mute, cowering in shame. The idea that overnight this kid had grown a pair of balls, and was now acting so arrogantly, didn’t sit well with him. ‘You fucking wait, ya little shit. I’ll have ya, mark my words, I will!’

‘Come on, then!’ screamed Ricky, who had gone from mellow to mental in less than a second. By inflating his chest and protruding his jaw, his face changed, demonstrating an intense fury that penetrated through his eyes.

It made Dez jump.

‘Don’t make fucking threats, you bastard. Come on!’ Ricky now hopped from foot to foot, holding up his fists.

Only used to a blade, Dez was taken aback. He’d heard how Ricky had poleaxed Tatum and Tyrone and wondered if he’d seriously underestimated the kid.

Unexpectedly, as Dez stood in the doorway, a colossal fist cracked him on the side of the head and knocked him clean off his feet. There was no wobble or unsteadiness, Dez lay on the deck, out cold.

Mike shook his head. ‘I forgot me toothbrush. Lucky I did, eh?’ He then looked at his son’s expression. ‘What happened, Ricky? For fuck’s sake, you weren’t gonna fight him, were ya?’

Ricky was still standing in a fighting stance, his face tight and angry.

‘Ricky?’

‘Yeah, Dad. I was gonna have it out with him. I ain’t scared anymore, like I said.’