Chapter 35
THIRTY-FIVE
Harry
I stand on the bank of the Thames, fog curling round my boots. The river, an endless black pool, lies just a few metres below.
The body slumps at my feet, wide eyes staring up at me still. I grip the man under the arms, feeling the blood soaking through my shirt. I curse, heaving him towards the edge. There’s a muffled thud as he hits the surface and sinks, dragged down by the chains I wrapped round his ankles.
I wipe my hands on my jacket, the metallic tang of blood lingering in my nose, mixing with the rotten stench of the river.
Some drunk bastard passes, and I duck my head, feigning ignorance until he leaves. London’s alive round me even at this hour, the late-night stragglers leaving the pub down the street.
I slip into the shadow of a nearby building, heading for my car in the side alley. The engine hums to life, and I peel out, headlights cutting through the mist as I head towards Surrey and the shithole apartment I call home.
The drive is a blur of lights as I charge down the motorway.
By the time I’ve parked a few streets from the flat, the sky’s starting to lighten with the first hints of morning, turning the world a muted purple.
I traipse up the stairs, letting myself inside.
The TV’s dim light casts a sickly glow over the room, making everything more suffocating than it already is.
I lean against the kitchen counter, taking a minute to just fucking breathe.
I grab the knife from the surface, numb as I play with it between my fingertips, drilling my focus into the empty chair across the room. The ropes are still hanging from the sides from where the man was restrained to the worn wicker.
Another fucking dead end. That makes a total of six now, possibly seven.
Christ. I need a fucking cigarette.
Throwing the knife to the side with a clatter, I grab a cigarette from the packet on the counter, crossing my elbows over the ledge of the open window. I flick the lighter, taking a deep inhale. Outside, the streets are quiet, save for the occasional car or a distant siren wailing.
Leaving town’s been on my mind for weeks.
I could pack up a bag right now, hit the road and start fresh somewhere new.
Maybe catch a flight to the States and never look back, or bolt for the coast – catch a ferry to some small European town where no one asks questions.
I’d become a mechanic, embrace my roots.
It’s fucking tempting, and probably smart.
There’s nothing tying me to this place anymore. Information about the trafficking ring has come to a grinding halt, and I’m at a loose end. For all we know, it’s finished, though my gut thinks otherwise.
I exhale slowly, the smoke dissolving into the air, and for a moment everything feels still as the familiar buzz hits my lungs. The debate churns in me.
My phone rings in my pocket, jolting me from my thoughts. I freeze initially before pulling it out, glancing at the screen.
Unknown number.
Smoke curls up, stinging my eyes. I take another drag to buy myself some time, the ringtone slicing through the quiet morning. The cigarette burns down to the filter, and I discard it in the ashtray.
I answer the call. “Hello?”
“Harold,” a chipper voice says. “How’s things?”
I blink. “Who the fuck is this?”
“Mia.” She pauses at my silence and sighs. “Mia Allen.”
Oh shit. Her voice hasn’t changed, still smooth, confident, and straight to the point. What can she possibly want?
“Gigi’s friend. Well … more of a former friend.” Her voice trails off. “But we used to be best friends. Cut contact after she became a bit of a fucking bitch—”
“Yeah, yeah, I remember.”
Gigi. Her name impales my chest like a hot knife, shattering the numbness I’ve been clinging to.
“I need a favour,” she says.
Fucking reporters.
“Mia, if you’re here to rub the engagement in my face and give me some feel-good story about her big happily ever after, then, respectfully, you can fuck off—”
“I knew you’d help.”
I let out a steady breath, unleashing my hold on the window. I didn’t mean to snap, but Mia’s too raw, too close to her.
Besides, I’m not about to lose my temper. That’d be a hell of a story.
She hesitates, and I hear background noise on her end – traffic, people chattering. My eyes scan the street below out of habit: cars pulling out, a jogger running down the pavement.
Mia drawls, “Down, down … further, further – there you go.”
I skip over a woman with blonde hair and dart my eyes back. Mia. Standing across the street, leaning against a lamppost, staring boldly at me.
I’ve worked tirelessly to keep this apartment private, yet this twenty-something-year-old with bright hair and an even brighter suit has managed to track me down.
She waves.
What the actual fuck?
“For fuck’s sake.” My voice drops to a hiss. “How did you find this place?”
She lifts her shoulders and shrugs. “I have a guy.”
“What guy?”
“You’ll find out soon.” I feel her eyes boring into me even from this distance. “Now, that favour.”
“I’m pretty busy nowadays.”
“It’ll be worth your while.”
“Doubt it.” I brush her off, turning back into the apartment. “Now, if you and your guy could kindly back off, that’d be greatly appreciated.”
I pull the phone away, ready to end the call.
Mia’s voice comes through quickly. “I might have some dirt on your boss.”
I stop mid-stride.
“Richard, is it?”
I circle back towards the window, my brows drawn.
Did she just say Richard?
No, surely not.
I grip the phone. “Say that again.”
“Rich-ard,” she says mockingly.
I return to the window and narrow my eyes at her. She’s still in the same spot, propped against the lamp as if she owns the entire street.
“I’m listening.”
She tilts her head, mouth curling up at the corners. “Are you going to let me in?”
I peer round the apartment. The wallpaper curling at the edges, the cracks in the ceiling, the flecks of dried stains on the wall. It’s a huge risk allowing her in here.
I run a tense hand through my hair, making a split-second decision. “Second floor, apartment two. I’ll buzz you up.”
I hang up, throwing the phone aside.
I strip off my clothes in the bathroom, shoving them into a bin bag to be burnt later. The mirror shows me what I already know: blood splatter on my face, dark circles under my eyes. I rub myself raw with the scalding tap water, watching the pink-tinged liquid swirl down the drain.
A knock on the door has me quickly throwing on a pair of dark sweats and a T-shirt. The bloody ropes and abandoned chair catch my eye as I step into the living room. For fuck’s sake. I grab a sheet, chucking it over the top, not having enough time to disguise it properly.
The second knock comes again. “Any time today, Harold.”
I begrudgingly unleash the deadbolt and surrounding locks, opening the door. The wood groans as it catches against the rotting floorboard. Mia smiles as if she’s already won. Seeing her up close makes me squint, the purple she wears way too bright for the dull flat.
She pushes off from the doorframe. “Blimey, they said it’d be a shithole.”
I expect her to retreat, but instead she wanders further in, her shoes scuffing the floor as she takes it all in. She runs a hand along the back of the sagging sofa and mutters under her breath, “It’s perfect.”
Perfect? I narrow my eyes.
Her tone is casual, almost admiring, as if she’s appraising a penthouse. I take a few steps into the kitchen, leaning against the countertop, which is stacked with a few empty beer cans.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Mia turns to face me, her expression unflinching and making me itch. “I’m holding a meeting,” she says simply, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “I’m going to have a couple people over, if that’s all right with you.”
“Are you out of your mind?” I snap. “You’re not using my safe house for a social gathering.”
“I prefer ‘mother’s meeting’.”
“No. No,” I say again, sterner. “Absolutely not.”
I don’t like this one bit.
I’ve never enjoyed surprises, especially when they involve dragging more people into my mess, but Mia’s got that look – the one that says she’s already made up her mind and I’m just along for the ride.
“What’s in it for you?” I ask. “What are you getting out of information on Richard?”
She meets my glare, as calm as ever, but I see a flicker in her eyes like she’s weighing up how much to tell me.
A voice says out of nowhere, “Information on Richard?”
I whip my head towards the front door, practically giving myself fucking whiplash. Poppy stands in the doorway, her eyes sparkling with intrigue.
Mia stands a tad straighter, repositioning her posture at the sight of company, eyeing her with suspicion. Poppy tilts her head, the two of them sizing each other up silently.
Finally, she steps forwards, putting out her hand. “Name’s Poppy.”
Although initially reserved, the two shake hands. “I’m Mia.”
“So what’s all this about then?” Poppy turns her head between the two of us. “I’m always down for trying to put an end to that cunt.”
For fuck’s sake. There are more pressing matters at hand. Like how this fucking reporter has managed to find out where I live. Shouldn’t we be caring more about that?
I glare at Poppy, and she raises her brow in return. Like I’d deny an opportunity to put the man six feet under. I’d put a bullet in Richard myself given the chance.
My anger doesn’t vanish but twists into something sharper, more focused.
“I’m not saying I’m agreeing.” I hesitate. “But how would this pan out?”
“The guy, the contact I mentioned, he has something on your boss, but it’s encrypted, and it’ll take him a while to get access to it.
A couple hours, if we’re lucky.” Mia’s straight to the point, her eyes never straying from Poppy or me.
“This place is ideal, because no one will look twice. It’s brilliant. ”
I scoff. She’s got to be joking. Popping out of thin air like some—
“Who’s the guy?” Poppy asks.
Mia doesn’t miss a beat. “He’s asked to remain anonymous until the time comes.”
Quiet fills the room, and I grow tense, scrubbing a hand over my jaw, scratching at the few days’ worth of stubble. How can Poppy be entertaining the idea? She’s suffered losses like I’ve had to endure, witnessed the effort it’s taken to keep this place quiet. Nothing is worth risking that.
“Why have you come to Harry, of all people?”
Good fucking question.
“What else do you expect me to do with the information? Hey—” She holds up her hands. “He’s your boss, not mine. But I’ve heard whatever they’ll find is pretty detrimental.”
“Pretty detrimental?” I ask. “So you don’t even know what it is?”
She shifts on her feet.
I press further. “Where’d you get this information?”
There it is again, that look of defiance, like she’s holding something back. I don’t fucking like it.
“I’ll think about it,” I say.
“Harry,” Poppy hisses.
I shrug. “I said I’ll think about it.”
Mia blinks once, slowly. “I wouldn’t have come here unless it mattered.”
I lean against the counter, folding my arms. “Unless there’s something you’re not telling me?”
She hesitates, then finally, she breathes, “No.”
“That settles it then.”
Mia stands her ground, shifting between both feet as if waiting for me to change my mind. I won’t.
Poppy still pins me down with that “Are you serious?” glare, but I refuse to let up. Not when both of these women look like they’re ready to tear their nails over my face if I don’t comply.
“Give us a minute,” she tells Mia.
The door closes with a click behind her.
Poppy whirls round to face me, arguing, “Have you lost your fucking mind?”
I throw my hands towards the door. “You expect me to believe what she’s saying?”
“It could be our last shot, Harry. You said yourself we’ve reached a dead end.”
“And what if it isn’t? What then?”
“She said she has something on Richard.”
“She says a lot of things, if you haven’t noticed.” I scoff. “Besides, I trust myself better than I trust her.”
Poppy’s nostrils flare, fists clenched at her sides. “What are you so afraid of?”
I stare at her silently, trying to restrain the anger barrelling through me.
“Harry,” she sighs, a reluctant desperation in her voice as if she never wanted to press this far. “She’s not Gigi.”
“Poppy,” I grit out, rounding on her fast. “Don’t.”
“If you’re worried, she’ll—”
My voice is sharp. “I said don’t.”
She continues, though it looks like it hurts. “I’m sorry about your reservations towards her, but you’re not the only one who matters here.”
“Yeah, like who? Like Gigi?” I force the words out through clenched teeth. “She’s marrying the fucking enemy! Don’t use her name against me. I can’t talk about her. Not when—” My throat closes, my voice cracking more than I mean for it to. I swallow it down hard. “Not when she chose someone else.”
Poppy doesn’t move, but she holds my gaze. Her face shifts, a quiet pull at the corners of her mouth like she’s trying not to let the sadness through.
“I might not believe Mia.” Her voice softens. “But I think she’s the only hope we have.”
A tense pause fills the room, her words hitting me hard in the silence.
Before I allow myself a minute to change my mind, I sigh, “Let her in.”