I need to wake up. Please let me wake up.
The words are a prayer in my mind, constantly repeated.
Let me wake up.
Mum …
fifty-five. Troy
* * *
I don’t dare let go of Libby. She’s trembling so much that if I move she’ll melt into a puddle on the floor – and I’ll be only a second or two behind her. Baldie takes a step towards us. I pull Libby closer, my arms tightening round her.
‘Don’t hit her again. That’s her mum, arsehole. You just killed her mum.’
‘Then keep her quiet,’ says Baldie. ‘And that goes for you too.’
I can’t believe I just shouted at the Nought thug waving his gun around, but I had to shout, otherwise the words would’ve died of fright in my mouth. Beads of sweat prickle like pin jabs all over my body. My heart is revving up so fast I expect it to burst through my ribs at any moment. I’m still having trouble absorbing it. Libby’s mum was the one who abducted us. But why? And why me? What did she want with me? Libby’s mum didn’t know me from a hole in the ground. We’d only met once when I was eleven, and even then she could barely look at me. So it had to be Liberty who her mum had wanted. But then why didn’t she just grab her from her own home? Why grab her from school? It made no sense. Speculation, however, would have to wait. The fact was, Libby’s mum was dead, shot full of holes along with her accomplices, but by whom?
Who are these Nought men?
Libby is trembling for the both of us. I’ve never seen anyone killed in real life, yet here I am less than a couple of metres away from three dead bodies. My arms tighten round Libby. The rust-iron smell of blood fills my nostrils. The pools of blood beneath the bodies are no longer spreading outwards. Proof that their hearts aren’t beating? Guns that have been recently fired have a very distinctive smell. A bit like fireworks but so much stronger. Is that cordite? I’m not sure, but it’s a smell I know I’ll never forget. My ears are still throbbing from the sound of gunfire. All the time the guns were going off, I didn’t dare raise my head. At any minute, I expected to feel a bullet rip into my flesh or explode my skull. Each moment could’ve been my last. The gunfire has died away. My terror hasn’t. Libby and I are alone with three dead bodies and three armed brutes who’d shoot us as soon as look at us.
The bald guy kicks the gun out of Tiger Man’s hand, then picks it up. He twists it this way and that, examining it, then sneers, ‘A replica – and not even a good one.’ Dropping it on the floor, he studies me and Libby like we’re specimens under a microscope.
‘Is that Liberty Jackman?’ The bald man’s quiet voice is gruff. Chilling.
My heart begins to thump hard. Why does he want to know? Asking Libby’s name is ominous. I nod slowly.
‘Ding, ding, ding! Jackpot! Now listen to me, Troy. In fact, both of you, listen up,’ he says. ‘Amateur. Hour. Is. Over. One word or step out of line and it’ll be your last. Do as you’re told and you might just make it through this.’
I look up at the bald guy towering over me. This lot have no problem showing their faces. I know what that means.
‘Who are you? What do you want? Are you Nought Forever?’ I ask. ‘Is this about politics or money?’
‘What’s the difference?’ The bald guy’s silky smile chills my blood. ‘We want something only your sister and Liberty’s dad can deliver.’ The bald guy winks at Libby, the mocking smile never leaving his face. ‘When word reached us of what your mum was planning, well, we just had to follow them and step in when the time was right to take over. If your mother, her pathetic lover and his equally pathetic brother were still standing, I’d thank them for making our job so easy. Getting hold of both of you at the same time is a lovely bonus. My boss will be very pleased.’
‘Who’s your boss?’ I ask.
Baldie raises an eyebrow. Yeah, it was unlikely he’d answer the question, but I had to ask.
‘That’s Pete’s brother?’ Libby whispers, indicating the man in the tiger mask lying on the floor. She’s still clinging to my arms like they’re a flotation device. She isn’t the only one in danger of drowning.
‘Yeah, that piece of shit in the tiger mask is him,’ sneers the bald guy. ‘Or rather it was. He came to my boss for help in return for five per cent. Five per cent? Why settle for a little when you can have the lot? His thinking was too small. We have bigger and better plans in mind for both of you.’
A shiver runs down my spine. Libby clutches at my arm that much tighter.
The other two muscle-heads come into view.
‘Boss, the cellar is secure. We can stash them down there,’ says the bearded guy.
‘No! Don’t put us back down there. Please …’ Libby’s nails are now digging into my skin. I wince but hold on to her like her life depends on it – which it probably does. The man in front of me knew my name. He had to confirm Libby’s. The shoe is now on the other foot. They’re here for me, not her. She’s a bonus – and bonuses are expendable.
‘Shut the hell up and get down there,’ the blond Nought with locks hisses at Libby.
‘The upstairs is deserted, but the doors don’t have locks and some of the floorboards are rotten,’ says the bearded guy. ‘Those shitsticks lying over there obviously weren’t planning on a long stay.’
‘Who’d want an extended stay in this craphole?’ says the blond guy.
‘On your feet, you two. Get down in the basement,’ says Baldie.
It takes a few seconds to untangle my arms from Libby’s. I stand up, helping her to her feet. A surreptitious look around. Can we make a break for it? Two of the three thugs stand between us and the front door. The only way I could make a dash for it is if I picked up Libby and hurled her at them first. There’s no point in trying to run anywhere with Libby in tow. She can barely stand up, never mind run for her life. And there’s no way I can leave her behind. Plus the heavies have guns. Big frickin’ guns. Real ones. Pointing straight at us. Now I’m a fast runner, but not fast enough to outrun a bullet.
My heart plummets as I realize we’re going nowhere – except back to the basement. Libby snatches for and finds my hand. With guns pointing the way, we reluctantly stumble through the door and onto the stairs that lead down to our dungeon. The air smells slightly fresher due to the fact that the door has been open for a while – but only slightly. The room is still uncomfortably warm, the air still stale. We’ve only taken a couple of steps when the door slams shut behind us and there comes the sound of bolts being pushed shut, top and bottom. We make our slow way back down the stairs. Libby and I turn as one at the bottom, staring up in dismay at the now bolted door. Our last chance of freedom has slipped through our fingers.
‘I’m sorry, Troy,’ Libby whispers. ‘I should’ve tried harder to jump, but I … Mum used to pull on my legs when I was having a bath to drag my head under the water. I can’t bear the thought of being underwater. I’m so sorry. My mum … she did this. My mum and her pondscum boyfriend Pete and his equally lowlife brother.’ Libby’s voice is barely audible. ‘Now we’ve gone from the frying pan into the raging fire.’