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I’m just grateful my boss has kept me on at the cafe, and my friend, Priya, is being so supportive, but even with her support, I'm failing. I can’t confess the truth, nor can I battle it alone.
With the investigation well underway, I hoped to find a sense of normality, but if anything, I feel like a suspect. Simon doesn’t share my guilt, claiming it’s because I’m the only one hiding anything of worth to the police. All he knew was that Jeff had mentioned being in financial difficulty, but the police would find that out themselves.
I’m lying and obstructing the investigation, and he is lying for me, to protect me. It only adds to my mounting guilt.
Forensics and CID collected every scrap of evidence from the office, everything but what is locked away in my mind. We were called back in to further go over our statements just yesterday, and with each passing second, I fought the urge to admit the truth. The only thing stopping me was Simon's words ringing through my head like a warning bell. Screaming at me to remain silent despite the stigma I'm enduring.
Those killers know who we are. They know you saw. If you identify them, you're signing our death warrant.
Those words pulse through my brain, bringing on another headache, and my legs stall in fear as I make my way down the street. The cool air whips around my sweaty neck, just as something cold and wet drips onto my face. No doubt another bout of guilt-infused tears. I’m not sure how much longer I can live with this secret. The darkness of it is seeping into my bones and rotting my very core. I despise the woman I’ve become, sickened by my choices. Despair has clung to me from the moment I stared at Jeff’s lifeless body. My heart lurches and I gasp for air, suffocating in my grief. I turn with the intention of walking straight to the police station to confess my sins but my phone pings, jarring me out of my spiralling thoughts.
I don’t need to look to know it’s probably Simon.
Rain patters and I blink as the drops sway on my lashes, running down my cheek, and then falling off to be washed away in the grit below my feet, just like Jeff’s life. I can’t process the painful reality in which it all happened, and so quickly. It’s hard for me to piece some bits together. Others I have forgotten all together. The cold water stings my overheated skin, cooling me off as it begins to downpour heavily. I tilt my chin, welcoming the rain, letting it sluice away my pain. The heavy drum of footsteps around me drowns out all thoughts. I focus on the repetitive sound, the gentle tap over my skin, and bask in the silence.
I want this nightmare to be over.
Someone bumps into me and I’m jolted forward with a bang, my mind flashing back to replay Jeff's final moments. The gun shot. The deep wound in his head. His eyes.
No matter how much I try to forget Jeff’s eyes, I just can’t. They haunt me.
And in my silence, I’m no better than those killers.
My keys fly away and clatter on the ground a few feet away. I rush to find them, slipping between the throng of pedestrians. I’m within reach when someone else picks them up.
Stepping back, I watch as he unfolds himself and stands tall.
He is undeniably handsome, but all of that fades away when I meet his eyes.
Eyes that dim the painful memory of someone else's. Eyes that hold mine without suspicion or sympathy.
Beautiful deep forest green eyes that eat up my face with quiet pleasure.
2
JAMIESON
Present day…
Seth walksto me with a cigar stuck between his fingers and draws a fresh cigar from inside his suit jacket, passing it to me. He’s come straight from work, his suit is crisp and smooth, yet his tie is sticking out his pocket and his top button undone.
“Is it even torture if you don't have a cigar to enjoy it?” I muse, lighting mine, throwing a wolfish grin his way. Like him, I’ve not long left the office, although my suit and tie are perfectly in place.
“Ryan is bringing the whiskey,”Seth comments. I didn't expect to see him so soon, yesterday was a tough day for us, him more so. We finally pinned down the gang who had hooked his sister on heroin. Libby has become a ghost of herself these past few months and it was all down to those spineless pricks in Hackney, preying on young women, teenagers, and the vulnerable. Narcotics distribution isn’t uncommon, but they made it personal when they chose to line their pockets with Libby’s money and harm one of our own. How she became caught up in that shit; I don’t know. She can barely remember herself, and with her upbringing and connection to The Panel,I have no idea how it slipped past us. We all feel guilty. They are small-time, and like many other gangs, are nothing more than a flea in our way. But they fucked with the wrong family. Libby is a good girl.Wasa good girl. I only had to look her in the eye to see that is no longer the case.
They got what was coming to them.
We made sure of it.
Only twenty-four hours ago, this bunker was filled with the cries of desperate men.
Ryan had wanted revenge, the painful kind.
He didn't just want them to pay, he wanted to eradicate the gang and destroy any memory of them. As it stands now, they no longer exist. We rid the world of them and disposed of any footprint they left.
We didn’t get where we are in life by just paying off those who get in our way. Our fathers may be at the helm of our family business, but we are the fists.
I’d had the four gang members gagged and restrained, each strung from the ceiling by their flesh torn arms. I’d taken great pleasure in painting targets on their faces and when one had cried and begged me, I mocked him before landing a harsh headbutt to his face, knocking him clean out. I like to be a little creative; I can no longer torture someone in the same way I have another. Each life I have taken is imprinted in my mind by their unique death, personally planned by yours truly. We’d each taken turns in beating them to a pulp, torturing them for hours, before we’d lined them up and shot a bullet between their eyes.
