“No,” I said, frowning. “Should I?”
“It was on your attackers,” Betsy said, then carefully looked to Ronnie.
Ronnie sat up and took off her jacket and waistcoat. She undid her tie and the top few buttons of her shirt and pulled her shirt aside. Her dark skin was smooth and beautifully rich in colour, apart from a small brand in the centre of her shoulder blade. I leaned in to look closer, and I stilled. It was the brand in the picture. The one the attackers wore.
“You used to work for them?” I said, feeling instant fear sink in deep.
Ronnie snapped her head around, and her dark eyes turned ice cold. “I didn’t work for them, Ches. I was taken by them.”
“What?”
The room was silent and thick with tension as Ronnie dressed, right down to her jacket. She sat back on the bed. “It’s a story for another time, but I was kidnapped by them.” Vera took Ronnie’s hand. Ronnie squeezed her fingers tightly. Apart from that telling move, Ronnie was unreadable, appearing unshaken. “I was trafficked, Ches. I was whored out and made a slave.” Bile rose in my throat. Ronnie took a deep breath. “The Adleys saved me. Brought me into their fold.” She gestured to the picture of the unique brand. “I’ve been looking for these cunts ever since.” She lifted her eyes to mine, promise in her gaze. “And when I find them, I’ll murder them. Every last one of them.”
“They’re untraceable,” Vera explained. “Rarely leave any sign of themselves behind. No one knows who they are. We’re close to many crime families and organisations around London, shit, all over the UK. No one knows them.”
“Your video was the first bit of evidence we’ve had on them in years,” Betsy said. “We were hoping you could shed some light on them.”
I shook my head. “I have no idea who they are.” I paused when something came to mind. “My father. The men mentioned to me that my father and Hugo owed them money. That they hadn’t paid them for some kind of loan.” Another thought occurred to me. “Harlow Biscuits? Who’s running that right now? Are people looking for me? The police?”
“The board has stepped in at your family’s business. They have it covered for now. But you’re officially a missing person.” Vera smiled widely as she said, “We’ve sent the little piggies on a hunt to lead them far, far away from us. That buys us some time to work out exactly who we’re dealing with.”
“Arthur won’t stop until he finds them. They’ve fucked with what’s his. So they’re all going to die. That’s the law of his fucking land.”
“His …” I said, liking the way that sounded as it rolled off my tongue. I liked it far too much.
“Whether he admits it or not, you’re his,” Betsy said, pure mischief in her expression. “He’s been sleeping on it, Ches. I’d say it’s time to wake him the fuck up.”
A thought quickly came to mind. “My father’s computers. His work email. His phone. His home laptop. Maybe those can help you. Hugo’s too. They had to communicate with someone over all this. There must be something somewhere that can give you a lead.”
“Good thinking, darl.” Ronnie pulled out her phone. “I’ll get them brought to me.”
As Ronnie typed on her phone, I watched her, wondering what she had been through. As I did, the reality of what had been going to happen to me sank in. “They were going to traffic me,” I said out loud, a cold chill wrapping around me. “That was the payment they were talking about, wasn’t it? They wouldn’t kill me, because they were going to sell me? Recoup the money my father and fiancé racked up?”
“You would have been a high-price ticket too,” Ronnie said, as if she were talking about general groceries. “I’ve seen enough auctions to know. They’ll be so pissed off that you got away.”
“Then they will want me back,” I realised. If they could have sold me for a lot of money, that meant I was an asset they wouldn’t stand losing.
A hand threaded through mine and immediately chased away an echo of the chill. “You’re an Adley now. No one will get you,” Betsy said, her touch exactly what I needed.
“An Adley,” I repeated. Betsy had said it with such surety, such conviction, that it made me believe it. Made me crave it. Made me want to be worthy of it.
“Where’s Arthur?” I asked.
Betsy smiled knowingly. “He’s out on business for the next several days. But he should be back for the weekend. That’ll give you plenty of time to rest and heal. The doctor said you should be feeling a lot better by then. Almost back to normal, I’d say.”
“Saturday night,” Vera said, her announcement confusing me. She got off the bed. “Let’s see if our Chelsea princess can manage to convince the ‘lord’ that she can come with us on our little night out.”
“Where?” I asked.
“You’ll see,” Ronnie said, clearly confident Arthur would cave and bring me to whatever they were referring to.
As the couple left the room, Vera called over her shoulder, “Let’s just hope that you didn’t lie when we asked if Arthur’s line of work fazed you or not.”
That could only mean one thing awaited us on Saturday. The one thing Arthur seemed to bring to London Town in abundance: death.
Chapter Nine
ARTHUR
I threw my coat on the rack and walked down the hallway. I cracked open the door to my old man’s room. His nurse was changing his nutrient bags. “No change, sir,” she said, acknowledging me, and I nodded. I glanced at my dad’s face. Still pale. Still thin. Still in a motherfucking coma.
I shut the door behind me and headed to the guest room. I intended on walking past my own bedroom door. In fact, I’d promised myself I’d keep my bloody head down and just fucking ignore it. Instead, I stopped right in front of it and turned the knob. It was after two in the morning. It was pitch black outside and I was knackered. But not knackered enough to fight the fucking pull that yanked me inside that room.
I opened the door. The lights were off, but the light from the blazing fire was enough for me to see her. I tried to stay in the doorway, to see her from afar, but she turned in her sleep, rolling in my direction, and I found myself walking inside. I only made it six steps before I stood stock-still.
The bruises on her face were almost gone. The swelling on her lips had reduced to make them normal size, and the cuts on her body were barely there.
She looked like the Cheska I’d always known. My prim and proper Chelsea girl. The one I sank inside week after week. It was never enough. Never fucking enough.
I stared at the open door behind me. Leave, you fucking prick, I said silently to myself. But I didn’t. The sadistic cunt that I was sat in the armchair and just fucking listened to her breathe. Watched her chest rise and fall. And tried not to imagine what would have happened to Cheska if the traffickers had got her. Where the fuck would she be now? Where the fuck would they have taken her?
My fists were clenched so tightly that my bones ached. There was nothing. Nothing that Ronnie’s research had flagged up so far. Nothing that my acquaintances had heard. It was a motherfucking stealth job. No one knew jack shit.