“You sure she’s lost her baby teeth? How old?”
Maybe I misjudged him. Maybe I need to be running my own blade across his throat before I leave.
His expression sours. “Watch your mouth and your thoughts there, mafia boy. I’m not a paedo, unlike my brother-in-law. Bambi’s my cousin’s kid. Her mother died young, and her dad was never in the picture, leaving her with two choices: to get carted off to some nun-run kiddie home where they beat you black and blue for thinking out loud, or to live in Spain with me.”
“Interesting environment for a child.” My gaze lands on the half-dead man at the end of the diving board again. “What’s today’s life lesson? How to take one?”
“I never said I was a father figure, but she’s still alive, ain’t she?”
“Yes, but is she up to date with her shots?”
Behind us, there’s another bubble gum pop from Bambi as the half-dead man starts snivelling again. Jesus Christ. It’s like an opus of all things light and dark and screwed up.
Viper smirks, giving me the shades of a boy I never had the chance to know. “If you’re done gate-crashing my evening’s entertainment, Lastra…” Stepping forward, he pulls me in for a rough embrace. “Tell me he died the way he deserved,” he murmurs, the hate and pain in his voice all too familiar.
They took everything from us. Now it’s time to take it back.
“He died in pieces. Screaming out our family’s names.”
There’s a rough clap of appreciation between my shoulder blades. “Then we drink to celebrate, but first…” He pulls away again. “Bambi, sweetheart, do the honours. Make it memorable.”
“Okey-doke.”
With another pop, Bambi retreats back into the shadows as Viper beckons a couple of his men over from the bleachers. They nod at me in respect, which makes his smirk re-emerge. “Seems I’m not the only Brit around here with a reputation. Heard you and Knight fixed the game and won the Riviera before you got yourself banged up for twenty-five-to-life.”
“Hollow victories,” I say, glancing away. “There’s only one fight that counts, and it started this morning.” I hold up my wrist to show him the bloodstains.
There’s a pause. “You got a jet?”
“Standing by.”
“You got a plan?”
“One with a Colombian flavour.” His eyebrows lift a notch. “But I can’t do it without you. I need all the men I can get. We made a pact to come back harder and stronger. Avenge both our fathers. Save Ada. You in?”
His answer is drowned out as the opening riffs of AC/DC’s Thunderstruck come blaring out into the pool area.
Shooting me a ‘hold that thought’ look, he heads over to the man knelt shivering on the diving board, and soon he’s screaming into his mouth gag again.
I watch, dispassionately, as Viper carves something into his chest and forehead, and by the time the second verse of the song kicks in, he’s straightening up and rolling his shoulders back. A beat later, he’s kicking the bastard off the end of the diving board to a messy end below.
Clicking his fingers, the music shuts off again, and he saunters back to where I’m standing, wiping his blade clean on his jeans.
“He kidnapped an eleven-year-old kid and made him do shit no kid should ever do.”
“No need to rationalise it to me.”
“I fucking hate nonces.” He nods to his men to go clean up the mess. “I was planning on a three-day torture bender until you showed up.”
“Viper—”
“I’ll do it on two conditions because I owe you.” He shoves a bloody hand through his dark hair. “You came back for me that night when you could have run with Ada. I don’t forget that kind of sacrifice.”
“One,” I say, holding his gaze.
“Give me back the East End when it’s over. I’m not looking for another war. I want our city peaceful, like your father wanted. If you say that means cutting a deal with Santiago, I’m in.”
I can tell he means it by the look on his face. Living in exile makes you hungry, but it doesn’t make you stupid. He knows we don’t have the men or the weapons to win this thing alone.
“Done. And the other?”
“Bambi’s coming with me.”
“Are you serious?” My brows shoot up in disapproval. “Where we’re going isn’t safe for a twelve-year-old, Viper.”
“She’s thirteen, nearly fourteen, plus she’s family.”
“Whose family? Chucky the killer doll’s?”
He shakes his head, fighting back another laugh. “I tried to do right by her. I sent her to an eighty-grand-a-year boarding school where the food didn’t taste like piss, but she kept running back. In the end, I put a laptop in her hand, taught her some tricks, and told her to pay attention. She’s a good kid. Streetwise. Sees things about people that even my best men miss. Hey, Bambi!” he yells again. “Tell me what you’ve got on Frankie so far.”
“Six-foot-four and smokes cheap cigarettes,” she replies, reappearing behind us.
“What else?”
“His Glock’s empty but the Beretta strapped to his ankle is still loaded and there’s a knife on his belt. The private jet in Malaga is his. He just bought it off some man called Aiden Knight, but his car’s a shitty rental with leather seats that look like cat’s puke.”
Viper meets my eyes again, our silence peppered by a couple of triumphant bubble gum pops from Bambi. “Like I said, Lastra, she pays attention.”
My gaze flicks towards her again. “Okay, Pink, I’m impressed, but you missed the switchblade in my left pocket.”
“Not missed.” She holds it up in one hand, with my car keys dangling from the other. “But they’re not such a threat now, are they old man?”
What the fuck?
Viper thrusts a bottle of whiskey into my hand to cool the burn. “Listen, she’s my problem. Not yours. I’ll keep her out of the way.”
“She’s trouble,” I grit out. She’s a complication.
“We’re all fucking trouble, mate. Otherwise, we’d be punching cards and sinking half of our wages in Starbucks and Café Nero like every other good, law-abiding citizen.”
“I’m still fucking here, you know,” she pipes up, clearly annoyed at being tossed between us like an unwanted kitten.
“What the hell did I tell you about bad language?” Viper snarls, making his men grin. “Go and wait for us in the office.” He snatches the bottle from me and takes a swig, muttering “kids” under his breath. “Tell me one thing, Lastra, how did you manage to talk your way out of an eight-by-six prison cell nineteen years before your first parole hearing date?”
“How did you manage to escape that basement?” I counter swiftly.
When I came around, I had twenty-three broken bones, Viper, and you and Ada were gone. I haven’t seen her since that night. It’s been fourteen years of purgatory. Fourteen years of the kind of agony a hundred thousand broken bones couldn’t match.
His smirk vanishes, and he takes another swig of the bottle. His longest yet. “That kind of evil is best left in the past, Lastra.”