Fourteen
T hey thought they were so smart. They thought I wouldn’t realise that they’d taken her.
After the dead guy… after my tortured night of guilt, and self-recrimination, I woke after a brief sleep, realising that I couldn’t blame myself for his poor health. I couldn’t blame myself for him not being able to stay alive. It was sex. If he’d died during sex, it could have happened at any time.
And that was how I convinced myself that the best way to get over that shock, and horror, was to get back on the… well… horse .
Our plan had been made for tonight, but what she didn’t know was that I’d taken to following her. You don’t do what I do and trust, implicitly, that your one paid accomplice is completely trustworthy.
I saw them take her. I could have helped. I could have stepped in, and given her the backup that she probably thought I’d offer, if she were caught out. It was too dangerous though. There were four of the bikers waiting there for her. Even two of us wouldn’t have succeeded against them. They were fast too. She stepped out of the building she lived in, and they grabbed her, shoving her into a van, with so little noise or fuss, that nobody noticed, or perhaps they simply turned a blind eye.
They were taking her back to their compound. Where else? The temptation to follow had been so strong. Would I have been able to get a glimpse of him? He wasn’t with the ones who took her, but he’d be there. He’d be there when they questioned her. Would she give me up easily? The money I paid her was for the care home her mother was in. It had kept her mother well looked after for so long, so maybe she’d try to hide me.
I couldn’t take the risk either way. If she even happened to get in touch tonight, and confirm that she had one for me, I had to stay away. I had to change everything. It was time to disappear.
I swapped my phone for another burner, and glanced around my flat. It wouldn’t take long to move on. I didn’t have much in the way of belongings, because this really wasn’t a life that allowed me to make a home. Always on the run. Always hiding. Always alone.
And yet… I found myself watching their compound that evening. Watching as they ushered her out of there, and left in a van, followed by two bikes. I gave them time to get on the road, then I followed, and I watched. I watched as she entered a bar, and they lay in wait. Two were dressed in normal clothes, and followed her into the bar, from inside that van.
The two who were on the bikes had stayed down the road. They were fully intending to take me a prisoner. But they’d underestimated me. Never again would a man make a choice for me. Never again would he take my choice away.
So I sat and watched, and as the night dragged on, she eventually reappeared, flanked by the two who’d gone in there with her. If I’d been the type, I’d have had a gun trained on her, and I’d have taken her out, while they all dropped low, and tried to find the shooter. But this is England, and we don’t do things that way, and I’m not the gun toting type, either way.
So when I drove away after their van left again, with her safely ensconced inside, I went to my new flat, and I hid out there. I needed a new plan. A new process. A new accomplice. And more than that? I needed that biker back. He was mine, and I still planned to keep him.