Chapter 43
Chapter Forty-Three
Mick
Seven years, four months earlier
S ilvio struts into the living room, a little girl clinging to his leg.
“Daddy, I want to go home.”
“You can’t.” He lifts her and sets her on the lounge like she’s as fragile as the fairy doll clutched to her chest. The gentleness is at odds with the burly drug dealer’s permanent frown and scar-lined face. He shoves a colouring book and crayons in front of her. Her bottom lip quivers, but there’s no arguing or crying. She just places her doll next to her and opens the book.
“Watch her for me, will ya, Sam? I gotta check on the merchandise.”
I unfold myself from my position on the adjoining sofa and stretch my legs. “She shouldn’t be here.” I whisper the words so the child doesn’t overhear. She’s around four, only a few years younger than Davo’s son.
He shrugs. “No choice. The old lady slipped and hit her head at work yesterday. Landed herself in hospital.” He scrubs his face. “I can’t leave my kid alone at home. ”
Of all the scumbags I’ve dealt with while undercover, Silvio’s the most compassionate. Don’t get me wrong, he sleeps easy at night knowing the drugs he peddles are fucking up the lives of countless people. But he protects his family with the intensity of the most ferocious guard dog.
I glance at the grubby analogue clock on the wall. The timing couldn’t be worse. In less than an hour, the tactical response team will bang on the door, unleashing all hell. I massage my tight neck muscles. It’s impossible to warn the team there’s an innocent here. Even if I dared to use my mobile, I can’t. It was confiscated for ‘security reasons’.
“No problem. I’ll watch her.”
Silvio punches my arm. “I knew I could count on you.” He strides down the hall and disappears into a bedroom where two other men are preparing the drugs for transport.
I pace in circles around the floor. What the hell can I do?
“What are you doing?” The little girl’s eyes are wide with curiosity. They’re a stunning blue. Like the barrier reef on a warm summer’s day. So pure and innocent. How long will that last?
I shove my hands in my pockets. “Just thinking.”
She returns to her colouring, seemingly satisfied with my answer.
The door bursts open. My heart pounds. Is the tactical response team early? I swivel and on reflex reach for the back of my waistband, only there’s no gun. Weapons are reserved for the muscle. I’m the brains. At least that’s what Reaper said when he stripped me of my weapon and phone. The truth is, he sees me as competition and feels threatened as I inch closer to Leadbetter’s inner circle.
“Hey Sam, you look like you’ve seen a ghost. You’re not nervous, are you?” Frank and Rashid slam the door behind them, their flat, grey eyes seeking me out and plunging the room into darkness.
“Maybe a little.” I chuckle. It’s best to stick as close to the truth as you can. And right now, I’m terrified for the innocent on the lounge.
Rashid punches my upper arm. “You’ll be fine.”
“Thanks.” My job is to negotiate with the scumbags who are due to meet us at two. Screw them down on price. I’ve gained a reputation undercover for being able to get clients to trust me. If these guys knew how far that deception goes, they’d string me up by my balls and leave me to die.
Frank looks past me to the girl and scowls. “What the fuck are we running here? A day care?”
“She’s Silvio’s daughter, so watch your mouth.”
He waves his hand dismissively. “Whatever.”
Frank and Rashid continue down the hallway.
Reaper strolls past them, his black suit blending with the gloomy lighting, a pistol tucked into the waistband of his trousers. “I’m out of here.”
“You’re not staying?”
“Nah. Some dealer thought he’d steal from us. It’s time to show him what happens to rats.” His gaze skims over the girl, but he doesn’t acknowledge her presence. “You don’t need me here. This deal’s as good as done.” He adjusts his jacket to cover the gun and strides towards the entrance.
No. He can’t leave. There must be something I can say to keep him here. But what?
With one hand on the doorknob, he pivots and pins me with merciless black eyes. “Don’t fuck it up.” The door slams behind him.
Dammit. Air moves in and out of my lungs and blood rushes through my veins. But my insides have turned to jelly. There’s no doubt in my mind that if I’d tried to stall Reaper, he would have become suspicious, jeopardising the operation, and my life. But dammit! Given how important this deal is to Leadbetter, I was certain the henchman would have stayed to make sure it went smoothly.
Twenty minutes later, someone knocks on the door. After a few moments of posturing, four visitors take seats like we’re having a tea party.
Silvio hitches his oversized jeans and gestures down the hall. “The goods are in the bedroom.”
The leader, a wiry man with a scar running from the top of his cheekbone to his jaw, shakes his head. “Bring them here.”
It’s a calculated move, and one I counted on when planning the impending raid with the drug squad. The gang’s backs are better protected if we’re all in the same space. But it’s also easier for the tactical response unit to storm one room than several. Silvio nods at Rashid and Frank. They grumble and strut down the hallway.
The air vibrates with undistilled greed as our clients inspect the goods. My heart races like a runaway train. Luckily, I’m the only person who can hear it. I keep an eye on the clock. One minute until two. Until the party is crashed.
There’s a thump at the front of the house, then another.
“Police. We have a warrant. Open up.”
Bodies dive in all directions and there’s a crack of the lock before the door is wrenched off its hinges. I scan the room for the girl. She was curled up on the sofa. Where’s she gone?
One of the clients springs off the floor, the child plastered to his front. “Back off, pigs.”
The coward is using her as a human shield as he raises his weapon. In the time it takes for a gunshot to end a life, I throw myself in front of them. My shoulder explodes with searing pain and I tumble to the floor.
The leading tactical response guy hesitates. Shocked, warm brown eyes I know as well as my own snag mine. It’s a fatal mistake. A bullet thuds into Davo’s neck. He clasps his throat and falls face-first. Gunfire swallows the child’s screams. I haul her up under the arms and propel her behind the lounge. “Don’t move.”
I crawl to Davo, my mind numb. He clutches his neck, his life force seeping from between his fingers. I rip off my shirt and shove it against the wound. “Hang in there, mate. You’ll be fine.”
He smiles. That goddamn smile that always won him the ladies until Melissa swept him off his feet. He tries to speak, but blood is bubbling out of his mouth.
“I’m sorry, Davo. I’m so sorry.” I press harder against his throat, but the shirt becomes wetter and wetter. It’s my fault he hesitated. I was supposed to flatten myself to the floor, not throw myself into the firing line.
“Not … your … fault.”
My blood-soaked hands slip as I apply more pressure. Tears cloud my vision. “Don’t you dare die. Not on my watch.”
“Take care … them …” His words are a croaky whisper curling around my eardrums. Then his eyes glaze over, the light extinguished.
Air whooshes from my lungs. This can’t be happening. How can this be happening?
I try to pump Davo’s chest, but it’s impossible when I’ve got one arm hanging by my side thanks to the wound in my shoulder. It’s also pointless. More of his blood soaks the filthy carpet than remains inside him. I slump over his body, tears streaming down my cheeks.
On some level, I’m aware of the tactical response team moving around me. The curses of the men lying face down on the floor, their hands cuffed behind their backs. The little girl sobbing. But their voices sound far away. It’s like being trapped underwater.
I clasp Davo’s hand and force myself to look into his lifeless eyes one last time. “I’ll look after them. I promise.”