56. Chapter 56
56
Luca
I bunch my fist and knock three times. My muscles ripple with tension as I prepare for what comes next.
The door is opened by a man in his mid-thirties, skinhead, with a thick neck covered in tattoos. He’s built like a brickhouse; bending my head to look at him, my lips twitching.
Let the carnage commence.
“What?” he demands.
I stand with my arms behind my back, hiding the gun.
He steps forward and I move quickly, shooting a single shot hitting him square in his forehead. The silencer makes a small satisfying pop.
Blood and brain matter explode out from the bullet hole that has ripped through his brain and skull. He’s dead before he knows anything has happened to him, falling backwards to the floor like a sack of potatoes.
I push the door open as another man comes down the stairs and raises the alarm, but he doesn’t finish his sentence because I shoot again, two shots to the chest. He falls the rest of the distance, his body landing at my feet.
It’s a classic 1930s terrace. Rooms lead off the narrow hallway, a staircase leads to whatever dark debauchery exists upstairs.
I cross the threshold, the tiled floors covered in blood from my first victims. I walk to the first door on the left.
The kitchen.
Three men are in different stages of mobilisation after their comrades’ warning, cards scattered over the table, along with poker chips, cigars and whiskey glasses.
What a fucking cliché.
I shoot two of them before grabbing my knife and thrusting it up under the chin of the third, straight into his brain. His warm blood coats my hand splashing onto my face.
My stomach pulls, and I wince.
I grab a tumbler and knock back the drink, before picking up one of their fallen guns and tucking it into the back of my trousers.
A small whimper has me pausing. I turn slowly to see a woman strapped to a chair in the corner. Her back to the chaos I’ve caused. She’s grimy and shaking.
Fucking hell.
I walk over and push my knife through the ropes that bind her hands, her wrists covered in red welts where she has spent God knows how long fighting her restraints. I spin the chair round, the wood grating against the dirty tiled floor, her mouth gagged, her eyes wide and filled with unshed tears.
I put my hands up to show that I mean no harm, even if I do look like a maniac covered in the blood of my victims, gun in one hand a knife in the other.
I hold my finger to my lips, and she nods.
“How many?” I whisper.
She shakes her head, the first tears falling, tracking down her dirty cheek onto her cracked lips.
“More women?”
She nods and I exhale deeply.
Of course there are, and I wonder how long the Russians and the Covenant have been trafficking women. The sick fucks. “Can you walk?”
She nods and I pull the gag out of her mouth. “Thank you.” Her voice is a broken whisper, a thick eastern European accent makes the words barely understandable.
“Go to a place called The Venue. It’s in Soho. Ask for the Duchess, tell her Knight sent you. She’ll help you.”
“The others?”
“Will be with you shortly.” I take off my black jacket and wrap it around her shoulders gently.
“No. I wait for friends.”
“So be it but stay here.”
I move quickly and methodically through the house, clearing each room, releasing more women. I execute the tormentors quickly, not wasting a second, but I still manage to make some more painful than others. Slitting a few throats, making as much mess as possible.
Five minutes is all it takes to empty the house, but there’s no sign of Layla. I walk back to the kitchen to find all the women there, clinging to each other in fear.
My face covered in blood splatters, my eyes wide, wild and feral.
The painkillers and adrenaline pulse through my system as blood lust propels me, the need to save her fuels me.
I don’t even want to acknowledge the feeling of panic that claws at my throat, making my heartbeat wild.
I will not acknowledge it.
“Are there any other rooms?” I ask, my voice deep and deadly.
The first woman I freed steps forward, the jacket covering her battered and bruised body. “The hallway. There is a staircase hidden in the cupboard.”
I nod once and check the clip. I walk to the door, plain white and wooden, and ready myself. The air changes as I open the door and make my descent.
The smell of damp air is overwhelming, which tells me that this is bigger than just your average basement.
It’s empty; I walk around it slowly.
Small bare lightbulbs hang from the ceilings where the plaster is exposed, the walls in different states of disrepair.
Wooden tables sit in the middle of the room, all of which have product in multiple bags ready for distribution. It’s a crude set-up, but it gets the job done.
I open one of the bags and taste a small amount on my finger. The bitterness confirms my suspicions.
Cocaine.
Whoever owns this house is one of the street gangs.
And not one of mine.
If Terry Peyton took her, it would make sense that they would use the Covenant links, and where better than with a young gang leader trying to pave their way in the world?
I bet when this opportunity fell at their door, they couldn’t open it quick enough.
I pocket one of the bags and take in the dank dark surroundings, the dusty bulbs, the dirty walls. The dampness.
I do a full 360, that feeling seeping back into me.
That panic. The fear.
The What ifs.
I’m missing something.
Breathe, Luca. I walk round the perimeter of the room, gun still in my hand.
Three old bookcases in the corner draw my attention and as soon as I’m within touching distance I can feel the change in air, the breeze that comes from behind it. The coldness tickles my skin as I reach out to touch.
I pull at the thick wood and it moves easily, revealing the hidden passageway behind it. The bookcase is there to hide, but not block.
The breeze becomes stronger along with that dampness as I walk slowly along the dimly lit corridor.
There is a whole maze of tunnels underneath the houses in this area, linking multiple buildings through the basements by the looks of the crude walls and smell of earth.
I hear murmurs in the distance, muffled voices. My signal to keep going.
As I silently move forward, the talking gets louder. Along with the laughter. They think they won.
I make my way to a door, which is ajar. Moving quickly, I dart to the other side, and as I do so look inside.
Four men and a woman.
My woman, my sunshine, my world.
On the floor.
She isn’t moving and is that blood? I will her to move, to give me a sign that she isn’t dead. Come on, sunshine. Give me a signal.
She’s strapped to the chair, her hair covering her face, and I prey to every fucking god that she’s breathing. I don’t breathe, I don’t move, I just watch and will her to fucking move.
Her fingers twitch, and it’s enough.
Motherfuckers.
I burst through the door, and the surprise on their faces is priceless. I shoot Terry first, not giving him a chance to fully process what he’s seeing.
My bullet goes straight into his heart, along with another in his forehead for good measure. He’s a cockroach, which means two is better than one. People like Terry always find a way to survive, like some cruel joke from the universe.
Terry hits the dirty floor and I turn on Asher, shooting the bastard in his kneecap. He screams out, but the fucker goes to reach for a gun, so I fire another shot in his chest.
He deserves a slow, painful death, but John will have to feed my blood lust.
Now that I’ve killed two of the four, I turn my gun, to the person who has positioned themselves over Layla. Hovering over her broken body.
“Move the fuck away from her and do it really slowly.” I tsk John. “Nuh Uh. Don’t you fucking move either.”
The fucker just grins and holds up his hands like he doesn’t have a care in the world. The man leaning over Layla’s hands go up, and he slowly stands, then turns round.
Everything slows down, hell, it just about stops as my eyes land in slow motion, but my brain takes a minute to process who I’m seeing. “Roman?”
Confusion and the bitter taste of betrayal has my eyes widening and my mind reeling. I take a step back as though he’s physically hit me, my legs feel weak, as I open my mouth to speak but nothing comes.
“It’s not what you think.” He stutters.
“It is.” John says grinning. “It’s exactly what you think.”
“Shut the fuck up.” Roman shouts, anger masking his features.
I march over to John, draw my hand back releasing all the anger, hurt and confusion into that single blow. The gun tearing across his face as I knock John the fuck out.
The bastard falls to the floor like the sack of shit he is.
“Luca.”
“Don’t!” I grip my hair and bend over. “FUCK.” I roar. “How long?” I turn and raise the gun to him, where his eyes widen, and his hands go up. “You need to speak and speak fucking quickly, friend.” I spit the last word.
“They have her. They have Saskia.”
“What?” I blink back my shock.
“They’ve been holding her, for two years Luca. Two fucking years they have held her captive like a dog. Two fucking years. And they won’t tell me where she is.”
“So, what, you’ve just been lying to me for two fucking years?”
“What else was I supposed to do? She’s my fucking blood.”
“And what about mine? What about my fucking blood? My world? She’s lying on the fucking floor bleeding out.” I roar. “You selfish arsehole. You were my brother.”
“I still am.” Rome’s eyes are beseeching, and I pause, looking at him, as pain builds in my chest, hurt spreading bone deep at his betrayal. How can someone who has been by my side since I was a boy, that has had my back since school be the same person as the one that is standing in front of me.
I don’t even know him.
I never have.
“Everything I have done is to get to her. To get her back.”
I hold my gun to my friend’s forehead as tears jump to my eyes. “You could have come to me; you should have come to me.”
The gun shakes in my hand.
“I couldn’t risk it, I couldn’t risk her. Not after everything we’ve been through.”
“Luca.” Layla whispers from the floor and I look through my unshed tears, at her broken body on the floor. “Don’t.” Her voice is broken, and I stare at her.
My sunshine.
Her eyes are glistening, her face flinches in pain, and I realise that she needs me.
“Get the fuck out of here.” I say, dropping my gun to my side, as I hear John's rumbles of laughter through coughing behind me.
“I knew you would never have it in you to kill him. Which made him such a perfect piece in the game.” He laughs again and wheezes.
“Go.” I say it again and Roman looks between the three of us, shakes his head and walks out without turning back.
And my chest splits wide fucking open.
I look up to the ceiling take a breath and then turn to my piece of shit uncle whose head is bleeding from the hard hit.
“Where is she?”
“Even after you know he’s betrayed you; you’re still asking the unimportant questions.”
I march over and grip his hair in my fist and pull his head back, holding the gun under his chin.
“Where the fuck is she?”
John grins, his teeth covered in blood and waves a hand. “Have at it then. Your mother would be proud.”
I swipe the gun across his face again, the full force of my rage behind the hit. He falls forward, his groan turning into a laugh almost immediately.
“I just want you to know before I kill you, like you killed her, that everything you have built, will be destroyed. The Covenant will be gone by morning. My people will see to that, and Roman will find her.”
“You think this is the first time I’ve been on my knees? looking the devil in the eye.”
“No, but I do think this is the first time that the one holding the gun is going to pull the trigger.”
“So do it then.”
I fire at his shoulder, along with a second shot to his other shoulder, followed by two in each thigh. Ripping through bone, cartilage, nerves, and veins.
He falls forward and groans in pain.
“You fucker.” He wheezes. “Why not kill me?”
“Because it’s not for me to do. It’s for her.” I look over my shoulder at Layla, who is sobbing quietly on the floor. “I always said she would be the one to burn it down, and I’m going to give her the match.”
I reach into my pocket and lift out a bright yellow metal canister. I’ve been waiting for this moment. His eyes widen at the realisation of what I have planned, fear flickers over his face but disappears quickly.
“I do not fear death.”
I shrug. “No, but you’re afraid of being burnt alive, ever since my father died, you have that fear. And that’s what your fate holds, you fat fuck. Levi will take your seat, and he will have control of London with Duchess. The other Covenant members will be executed. The Covenant, as you know it, will fall. Along with the corrupt arseholes that helped you build it. There will be no rising from the ashes for you.”
“There will always be others. They will come for you, the Covenant roots run deep.”
“And there may well be.” I bend next to him. “But I’m already a dead man, you saw the photos.”
“Snow?”
“An unimportant question. Remember, Uncle, blood pays with blood. My father, my mother, hers, mine, enough of my blood has been spilled, now you will pay with yours.”
He grumbles something, panting as he tries to crawl towards the door. By how much blood is seeping out of him, it would seem I nicked an artery.
Shame.
Fate has others plans for Uncle John.
But do you remember what I said about fate? I don’t believe in it.
Fate is down to the actions of men.
I follow him, and douse him in the liquid, the smell of lighter fluid wafting into the basement.
He sneers at me. “You motherfucker.”
I kick him in his stomach before walking to Layla, untying the ropes that cut into her wrists, and gently lift her, she screams in pain her head lolling as she fights to hold onto consciousness.
“I’ve got you, sunshine.” I kiss her cold, clammy forehead. My own stab wound sends waves of nausea through me, I grit my teeth against the exertion.
I breathe heavily through my nose; when the adrenaline finally disappears, I’m going to be just as fucked.
I turn to the door, which John has made it to, a bloody trail in the wake of his fat slug of a body. I kick him out of the way and step through. Moving Layla carefully, I pull out my lighter, the gift from my mother. Burn it all down etched in.
Poetic justice.
“Do it,” she whispers. Her eyes barely focused. “For our parents.”
“No, sunshine, you do it.”
She stares at me, slowly taking the lighter from my hand and drops it.
I step through the door and close the door to his screams.
Looking down at her I smile, and although she’s pale and in pain, and fighting so fucking hard to keep her eyes open, her lips twitch.
And I say, “I want more.”