“Luckily, I have a fucking strong neck.”
Sammy didn’t react, but then he nodded, getting the message to leave it. If anyone else had said that it wouldn’t have been without consequence. But this was Old Sammy. He was a fucking East End institution. He was family.
“Plus, haven’t you heard?” Eric wrapped his arm around my neck. “The king here has his fucking Round Table to keep him in check. Just ask Lawson.”
“That he does,” Sammy said and nodded at his man to open the doors. We left, and I climbed in the first car. Charlie got in too. The rest of the boys took their seats in the car behind us.
When we pulled out, en route back to Bethnal Green, Charlie said, “I’m getting people on Lawson. That fucker rubs me the wrong way.”
I lit up my cig and took a deep inhale. “He’s a fucking pretender. A rich tosser playing with Daddy’s money.” I took another drag. “The wanker wouldn’t know what to do if he really wanted to play outside of the rules and stepped into the underworld. He’d be fucking ripped apart the second he made it through the gates.”
“Still, the way he stared at you,” Charlie said, looking out of the window, watching the trees blur into one long dark line. “I’m putting men on him. I want to know if he even shits the wrong way. That fucker’s not sitting well with me.”
I remembered how, in Marbella, he was all over Cheska like a fucking rash. The guy was a bloody creep. But let Charlie tail him. If that fucker stepped even an inch out of line, I wanted know. I rolled down my window and flicked my finished cig onto the road. Cold wind filled the car, and I let it wash over my face.
“You got everything sorted for tomorrow night?” I asked Charlie.
“Done.” My cousin smiled. “Should be a good one.”
I nodded my head. I couldn’t fucking wait. I had pent-up anger I needed to unleash.
And unleash it I fucking would.
I sat beside the fire in my old man’s old study. There were no windows in the smallish room. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves covered all four walls. Two library ladders leaned against them on either side of the room. The old desk took up the north side, and two wingback armchairs sat before the large fireplace. A small table sat between the chairs. And on top was my grandfather’s old chessboard.
I sat in one of the armchairs. I’d been here for hours. I knew it was dark outside. But I had no fucking idea what time it was. Two in the morning, maybe? I didn’t fucking care. I was nocturnal by nature. Late nights were nothing new.
A large gin sat in front of me. Only the lights from the fire and a standing lamp filled the room. This was my old man’s favourite room. A place where he could shut out the world and the pressures of leading the family for a fucking minute.
It was my favourite room for that reason too.
I sipped my gin and moved a pawn on the chessboard. I stared at the pieces. My entire fucking life was just one big chess game between me and God.
I wasn’t sure who the fuck was winning.
The door slowly opened. I was about to tell whoever it was to fuck off and give me a few fucking hours of peace, but when I saw familiar dark hair and green-brown eyes appear in the doorway, I didn’t open my bloody mouth.
Cheska’s gaze swept around the room. A flicker of a smile kicked up her lips as she drank in the mass of books. While she was busy observing the study, I was busy looking at her. Her bruises were practically gone, just one place on her cheek where a slight blue tone was apparent on her olive skin.
She wore skinny jeans and a short white t-shirt. There wasn’t a scrap of makeup on her face, and she still looked like a fucking model. As if she’d heard that compliment, she turned back to me and squared her shoulders.
“So, this is where you’ve been hiding?” Her posh fucking Chelsea accent washed over me. Normally I couldn’t stand that Queen’s English bollocks, but it was perfect coming from her. I lit a cig and just watched her, wondering what she might do, why she was even here. I should have sent her the fuck away, back to my bedroom and out of my sight.
But my mouth chose to stay shut.
She stepped further inside, glancing over her shoulder at me as she turned and closed the door. As it clicked shut, she leaned against the old wood. She met my eyes fucking head-on. Then her gaze scanned down me.
“Arthur Adley without his suit jacket, waistcoat and tie,” she said, smiling. “A rare sight.” I’d thrown them off the minute I’d got home from Old Sammy’s warehouse. I was done with business for tonight. I’d opened a few buttons on my shirt and sat the fuck down in here to drink and smoke and not fucking think.
Trouble found me anyway.
Trouble in the form of a rich bird with long legs and the sweetest fucking cunt I’d ever tasted.
“Impressive collection,” Cheska said, walking along the bookshelves. Her hand ran along the spines of the hundreds of old hardbacks. She was edging closer to me, using the books as an excuse to draw in. She stopped at my old man’s silver liquor trolley. “May I?” She held up a crystal gin glass. I nodded, taking another long drag of my cig. Cheska poured herself a gin and tonic and moved past me, stopping at the free armchair opposite me.
I wasn’t fucking inviting her to sit down. I wanted to see if she’d scurry away from my lack of manners or sit the fuck down regardless. Cheska looked me square in the eyes and lowered herself to the seat. My cheek twitched at the challenge in her eyes. Her chin tilted up high, and I wondered if this was what that fucking fancy private school she’d attended taught her.
“You haven’t been to see me,” she said straight, and took a sip of her gin. She clearly wanted me to see her as a ball-buster who didn’t give one shit about my permission to be in here. But the slight tremor in her proper voice gave away her nerves.
“Been busy.” I lowered my gin to the table and pulled off my glasses. I cleaned the lenses on my shirt, then slipped them back on my face.
“Busy …” She nodded. “I’m feeling better now, thanks for asking.” She lifted her legs up to the chair, curling her body over as she leaned closer to the fire. The reflection of the orange and red flames danced on her cheeks, putting fire in her eyes as she glared at me. She clutched her gin in her hands, watching me over the crystal glass’s rim.
“What kind of business did you have?” she asked when I said sweet fuck all in response to her snipe.
“Family business,” I replied. She nodded, but I saw the flash of rejection in her expression. She inhaled deeply. Her tits pressed against her t-shirt, and it took everything I had to keep my arse on the seat and not overturn the fucking chessboard between us and fuck her on the floor.
Cheska had no fucking idea what I was imagining, how I wanted her pinned against the books she’d just admired as I slammed into her from behind. She gestured toward the chessboard. “You’re playing by yourself?”
I finished my cig and flicked it into the fire. “You play?” I cursed my fucking tongue for asking her the question. I’d vowed to keep Chelsea Girl at a distance. We’d find the fuckers who’d hunted her, and she’d run back off to her perfect little life, far away from the dark lord that she’d fucked for a while. I knew how this story played out. Posh and peasant didn’t mix.