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It’s night-time. I’m in a grimy alleyway, surrounded by a heckling crowd, watching over myself from above like I’m in a scene in a film. Behind me is the pub I just stumbled out of. After leaving the army, I spent my days drinking. Alcohol helped me forget and separate myself from the man I’d become. It dulledmy senses, but it didn’t provide respite for long. No matter how much I tried, I couldn’t escape the monster that had made itself at home inside me. It was me, and I was it.
I deserve to die. Slowly. Painfully. As soon as the Killers Club took me, it was only a matter of time. My misdeeds weighed down on my consciousness heavier than any mound of soil could.
I can’t run from what I’ve done. Saving Ivy was supposed to be an act of redemption, but that only led to a bigger curse. It’s fitting that she’s part of my undoing. A cruel twist of fate, laughing at me for believing I could be capable of something good.
I hear her voice. I can’t be sure if it’s real or a figment of my imagination. I threw myself in the bullets path to give her the second chance she never got with the Killers Club. Maybe there was hope for her this time…
My final act of redemption.
Like me, Ivy is lost. With the Dukes, she may have a chance.
Freddie turned my life around once. He could do the same for her. Years ago, he found me passed out in a doorway after consuming my body weight in the cheapest spirit I could find. He showed me that I could be useful, and being part of the Dukes gave me a real family for the first time… and Ivy could have that, too.
She hasn’t realised it yet, but she has more to give. She deserves to have a life that revolves around more than death and murder. Ivy isn’t like other women. She can’t be broken because her soul has already been smashed to smithereens. She needs to heal, and the Dukes can help put her back together.
When we were together in the dungeon, she made me feel something I hadn’t felt in a long time. As much as I’ve been content with my life, using my tech skills to support the Dukes, she made me realise that I’ve not allowed myself to feel trueemotions for years. When I wanted to give up and accept my death, she was my reason to keep fighting.
“Bram!” Seb calls my name. “You have to stay with us! Keep listening to my voice.”
“We’re losing him…” a gruff Scottish voice growls.
If I could groan, I would. Maybe dying would be better than giving Callen the satisfaction of knowing he saved my life. He doesn’t need any help to boost his enormous ego.
“Bram…” Ivy whispers.
Her breath caresses my cheek, and then everything fades to black.
CHAPTER 4
FREDDIE
Igrind my teeth as Torean Campbell smirks. He leans casually against the gate to a building site surrounded by ‘Keep Out’ signs.
I lower the window and sneer, “I didn’t expect a welcome committee.”
“Anything for my brother,” he replies, opening the gate for me to pass.
I make the sharp turn and speed through, kicking up a dust cloud over his black suit. I’m furious that we had to ask him for help, but we’re out of options with the Killers Club on our tail. It’s too risky to return to any building we’re familiar with. Doing something I wouldn’t usually consider is our best plan of action. We can’t be predictable at a time like this, no matter how much I distrust Torean.
Seb thumps on the bulkhead and yells, “Put your foot down!”
No one is dying on my watch. I floor it through the site, weaving through the skips, half-built structures, and rubbish strewn over the concrete. Up ahead, another car waits outside a warehouse to transport us. Although Torean is based close to Edinburgh, he still has influence in London. We’re lucky he’s in the city this month.
I come to a stop at the warehouse entrance, where Torean’s cronies guard the door. I recognise them as Torean’s right hand men, Ovi McManus and Marshall Price.
Ovi inclines his shaven, tattooed head in greeting. He’s an ex-street fighter, and his muscles bulge in a t-shirt that’s a few sizes too small. We’ve met a few times, and I’ve never seen him with a jacket, even in the peak of winter. Next to him, Marshall—the shorter of the pair—glowers at me from underneath a grey beanie hat that he rarely takes off. He’s of lean build with multiple facial piercings and his blue eyes have a crazy look that match his infamous unpredictable actions. Callen told me he escaped from a psychiatric institution years ago, which doesn’t surprise me.
“Look what the cat dragged in,” Marshall says, sniffing as I exit the van. The last time we met, I couldn’t get hold of a gun he wanted, and now he’s acting like a little bitch.
“Cut the bullshit, Marshall,” I snap. “I’ve spoken to Torean.”
He shakes his head, eyeing the van. “You know these plates will be hot, don’t you?”
“Good thing this is just a meeting location then,” I say, knowing Torean would never put his men at risk. He’s a twisted motherfucker, but he’s loyal to those guys.
“Lucky for you,” Ovi mutters in his gravelly Scottish accent.
Ovi moves around the back of the van and swings open the door. Inside, Callen is crouched next to Bram. He’s covered in Bram’s blood, while Bram lies motionless on the floor. At Bram’s side, Seb looks torn between vomiting and fainting, and Ivy clutches onto Bram’s limp hand.
