cunts killed my brother, my beloved sister’s twin.’ The tall Jewish man looked to his left at the man seated beside him. ‘And they killed his brother too.’
Ronnie glanced at the shorter man. A sudden shiver ran through his body, and for a second, he thought he was staring at the Devil himself. Portrayed in those dark, expressionless eyes and lopsided grin was a cruel streak.
Leaning back in his chair, Ronnie grinned. This was it. He didn’t have to consider pledging himself to this pact, cult, or whatever the fuck it was. He was in. The Jews had money and a tight, nasty firm, and he had the prize bride. He had a gripe with the Regans, and so what better way to take over the manor than to do so with the help of a bunch of wealthy psycho Jews? Even better, he would take back what he believed was rightfully his.
He gazed down once more at the strange marks on their wrists and was startled by a rustling sound from across the room. He could just make out a brooding figure in the shadows. Something in his hand gleamed from the soft light of the lamp. In a sudden rush of panic, Ronnie’s forehead formed beads of sweat and his mouth became as dry as a horse’s salt lick. As the daunting man approached the table, the side lamp shone a light on the tool he had in his hand. Ronnie’s heart rate levelled as soon as he realized it was only a tattoo gun.
Kent, 2002
The summer evening was drawing to a close. Mike could just soak up the last of the pink shimmer in the sky before he would have to face the cold, hard-faced bitch he called his wife. As he stepped out of his Porsche and felt his feet crunch under the newly laid gravel drive, he sucked in the warm air and braced himself.
Sacha, the housekeeper, opened the door before he had a chance to put the key in the lock. Her sweet round face was loaded with anxiety. It made Mike bite down on his lip and flare his nostrils. ‘Go on, love, tell me. What the fuck has she been up to now?’
Sacha lowered her gaze and shook her head. ‘Sorry, Mr Regan, but I just can’t do it anymore. I am handing in my notice … I can’t, I just can’t.’ Her voice cracked, as she tried to hold back the tears. Mike held out his big meaty arms for his housekeeper to fall into. He’d known she wouldn’t stay in the job for much longer. Sacha was too sweet and inoffensive. Dealing with Jackie was just too much for her.
He held her tight and stroked her long black hair. ‘Come on, love. Don’t get yaself upset. It’s okay. I understand.’
She gently pulled away. ‘I’m so worried about little Ricky, he is so … well, affected. Yes, maybe that’s the word. I will come back tomorrow, Mr Regan, to take him to school, but after that, I have to leave. She’s too …’ Sacha looked into Mike’s compassionate grey eyes and gave a smile loaded with sorrow. ‘She’s just hard work.’
Mike heard the cab driving up towards the house. He nodded and winked for her to go. He would deal with the aftermath.
As Sacha bustled herself into the taxi, she looked back to see Mike disappear inside the house of misery. Gutted she had to leave, she knew, nevertheless, that Jackie was becoming utterly out of control. The last straw was when she took a slap from her, for ushering little Ricky away before Jackie could say another cruel thing to him. Sacha would have loved to have swapped places with Jackie. Mike was perfect in her eyes, a Gerard Butler lookalike, rich and generous too. However, he was also faithful to his wife.
Mike stepped inside, gently closing the door, hoping that Jackie was crashed out somewhere. The house was quiet, so he crept up the curved staircase and walked along the corridor and into Ricky’s room. He gulped back the lump that had lodged in his throat. There, asleep, still hugging a pillow, was his little six-year-old son. The curtains were drawn, and his night light was just bright enough to show that his face was still moist from crying. There, among the child’s dreams, he witnessed another sob. Mike’s heart ached for his son – his sweet little chubby boy, with the biggest eyes, button nose, and wayward floppy fringe. He wanted to pull him into his arms and hug him tight, but he didn’t want to wake him. Quietly, he closed the door and walked back down the stairs and into the lounge. His shoulders relaxed when he realized he was alone. Loosening his tie, he went to the bar and poured a brandy, slowly allowing the bitter bite to warm the back of his throat. He held the bottle in his hand and rolled his eyes. Thank God she didn’t like brandy, or his vintage collection would be consumed by now. Jackie was content with a litre of vodka each day and didn’t care if it was called Grey Goose or Mother Goose, as long as it got her pissed.
Mike took his weighty crystal tumbler, with a double shot of brandy, out through the French doors and onto the patio, where the garden lights automatically came on and flooded the pool area.
With Sacha handing in her notice, and the concerning call he’d received earlier regarding his arms import, he really needed to think about what to do, now that both work and home were a mess. He shuddered and gulped back the drink. If it was true, and his deal had been intercepted by the government agents, he was looking at going down for a long time. Christ, what would happen to Ricky? He had to keep his head straight. First thing tomorrow, he would call a meeting at which only his trusted men would be present. He stared as far as his eyes could see and surveyed the walled perimeter. For a second, he thought he saw something glimmer, and his heart stopped beating. I am getting fucking paranoid now. He had to get some sleep; the last few days had been intense, and he needed a clear head for the morning.
As he went back into the house and upstairs, the inebriated snoring from their bedroom made him pass by silently, hoping his wife wouldn’t wake up. The last room on the left, the blue room, was cool and inviting. He removed his clothes and slid between the sheets, allowing the fresh cotton to engulf him. Just as he was about to drift off, a loud bang woke him and rattled his nerves. There she was in the doorway.
‘Where have you been, ya fucking wanker!’ spat Jackie, full of piss and vinegar.
Mike sat up and rolled his eyes; she was off on one again. For a second, he stared and wondered why the fuck he was still with her. Half-dressed in a designer blouse and just her knickers, she looked like a streetwalker. Her hair was a mess with knotted extensions and her oversized, collagen-filled lips were twisted in an ugly fashion to match her tight, beady eyes. Botox, boob jobs, and a fake tan had done her no favours. She was only twenty-six and could have passed for eighteen a couple of years ago. Why she’d had to have all that shit done was beyond him. He didn’t recognize her anymore, but that wasn’t the issue. It was her wild personality that had truly changed beyond recognition.
‘Well, where ’ave ya been?’ she demanded, standing there swaying with her hands on her hips. Even the sleep hadn’t sobered her up.
‘Fuck off, Jackie, and leave me alone, will ya!’
‘You don’t know what it’s like for me to be stuck in this place all fucking day with that brat whining!’
Mike felt his blood rushing through his veins. If she’d been a man, he would have leaped from the bed and smashed her head straight through the window. He clenched his fists and flared his nostrils.
‘Leave it, Jackie, and go back to bed,’ he said calmly.
Jackie wanted a row; she needed to vent her anger, but he wasn’t having any of it.
‘Oh,
