Chapter Twenty-Three Reference and Evidence #3
The driver said nothing, eyes locked to the tarmac. The officer in the passenger seat checked his watch, then the mirror. “Two minutes.”
Jude’s throat tightened. He shifted, collar stiff where the wire clung under his shirt. Every breath seemed to echo back at him through the device.
Callum caught his fidget, lips curling. “You’ll give yourself away if you keep twitching like that. Radley smells nerves a mile off.” He leaned closer, dropping his voice to a mockery of intimacy. “You always were a shit liar, lamb. And I ain’t gonna be taken down cause you can’t stop shaking.”
Jude forced his gaze out the window, away from Callum’s grin. The coastline blurred. Jagged rocks, white froth, the vast sea stretching to nothing. But Callum was right. He couldn’t stop shaking.
Then Callum reached over. Took his hand. Laced their fingers.
Jude looked at him.
Callum traced lazy circles over Jude’s knuckles as if it were tenderness.
“You’ll give yourself away if you keep twitching like that.
” His mouth edged closer, voice pitched low.
“Remember your tattoo? When I inked you? You were trembling worse than this, till I held your hand. Then you stilled. Took it. Became mine.” He chuckled, soft but cruel.
“Always needed me for the hard things, didn’t ya, lamb?
You did better when you let me guide you.
Like when we first met, you’d have had your mouth around that geriatric prick if I hadn’t held your hand and led you out.
I was your knight then, wasn’t I, Curls? Me.”
Jude’s stomach clenched. The memory was sharp as a blade, the buzzing needle, the sting of ink, the way Callum’s fingers had locked around his like a shackle disguised as comfort.
He told himself not to bite, not to let Callum’s voice inside his head again.
But the words still burrowed, dragging up every crack in his armour.
Warren would hear all of it through the wire.
Hear Callum rewinding Jude’s past and dressing it in chains.
Jude fixed his eyes on the dark smear of sea through the glass, forced his breath even, and held his silence as the car slowed.
Up ahead, Radley’s house clung to the cliff like a dare.
All glass walls and pale stone floodlit so the entire coast could see its edges cut into the night.
Music and chatter bled out through the open terrace doors, the gardens strung with light, the pulse of bass carrying on the salt air.
The car rolled into the sweep of the drive.
One of the plainclothed officers swung the back door open.
Jude stepped out, collar tight around his throat, the wire beneath his shirt burning.
Callum followed, stretching loose and casual, as though he were walking into a bar he owned instead of the lion’s den.
“Chin up.” Callum leaned into him. “Smile. You’re looking like a lamb heading to slaughter.” He laughed.
Jude didn’t.
Inside, the house throbbed with heat and money.
Sharp suits with collars open, chains glinting gold on tan skin.
Designer loafers clicking on polished concrete.
Women poured into bodycon dresses and tailored jumpsuits, all heels and handbags costing more than a teacher’s yearly wage.
Diamonds and fake lashes caught the light, perfume hanging thick enough to choke.
The glass walls framed the black churn of the sea, but no one was looking outside.
Tables gleamed under strips of powder left out in plain sight, cards and notes already dusted.
Deals were struck in low voices, baggies sliding across surfaces with less discretion than spare change.
And Callum cut through it like water, nodding at men Jude didn’t recognise, clasping hands with others who looked as if they’d slit throats before they shook them.
He didn’t falter, didn’t slow, just carved a path through the noise until the crowd thinned at the far side of the open-plan room.
And there he was.
Graham Radley.
Not holding court centre stage but sunk into a low leather armchair in the shadows, a tumbler of whisky dangling loose in one hand.
He didn’t need to move; the room moved around him.
Laughter rippled where he glanced, voices hushed when his eyes swept past. His stillness carried more weight than all the noise combined.
But it wasn’t Radley stopping Jude cold.
It was the woman standing before him.
She didn’t belong here. Not in this room.
Certainly not at this party. Where everyone else was draped in money and menace, she was all wrong.
Leggings, an oversized jumper, honey-blonde hair scraped into a messy knot.
Dark crescents under her eyes. And in her arms, an accessory that shouldn’t be there.
A baby. Crying, restless, wholly out of place in a house where every glass surface glittered with cocaine.
Piper. Piper Webb. Freddie’s sister.
The recognition hit like a fist. Jude’s stomach dropped, blood rushing in his ears.
Piper’s voice cut sharp through the bass of the music. “Why the fuck did you tell me to come here?” she spat, jiggling the baby as he squirmed into her chest. “Now, when you’re—” she flung her free hand at the glittering chaos around them “—entertaining.”
Radley lifted his gaze with a scowl. “I didn’t. I have no idea why you’re here. And why the payments keep bouncing back.”
“I don’t want your fucking blood money.” Piper’s voice cracked, raw and shaking.
“Then why did you come?”
Vivienne Radley swept in like smoke, every inch immaculate. “Because I asked her to.” Her black dress shimmered with sequined scales catching the light as she moved, elegant, lethal. She laid a hand on Piper’s arm, her smile all ice. “Piper. A delight. And what a beautiful child. How old now?”
Piper swallowed. Stepped back. “Mrs Radley. Ryan’s nearly one.”
“Ah, lovely age.” Vivienne stroked a long finger down the baby’s cheek, her smile deepening at his fuss. “That would put you getting pregnant around the time you worked for me, wouldn’t it? When you left suddenly?”
Piper paled, words catching. Jude’s chest constricted.
Every fibre of him wanted to cross the room, take the baby from her, shield her from the vipers circling.
But Callum’s hand closed around his arm, dragging him back against the wall.
He pressed Jude there, close enough to make it look like intimacy, for his breath to slide hot into Jude’s ear.
“Relax,” Callum whispered. Deep. Coaxing. Seductive. Every syllable designed to carry down the wire, to slither into the ears of the officers listening. “Breathe, lamb. Breathe.”
Then he nuzzled into Jude’s throat.
Jude froze, spine rigid, eyes snapping to Piper, her baby fussing over her shoulder, Vivienne’s elegant shadow closing in.
The sight made his chest lurch, but before he could move, his gaze tracked further across the open-plan space.
To Naomi. She stood near the kitchen threshold, half-hidden in the crowd.
Sharp posture, eyes locked on him, her expression a mask of calm authority. She gave the smallest nod. Hold steady.
Jude forced a breath, but when his gaze shifted again, it caught on Warren.
He stood by the far wall, where the open-plan living room bled into the glass doors leading onto the terrace.
A tray of champagne flutes balanced effortlessly in one hand, black trousers, crisp white shirt, waistcoat cinched neat around his torso.
Hair loose, eyes hard. He played the part.
Anonymous waiter, silent, serviceable. But his stare didn’t belong to the role.
It belonged to Jude.
And Warren didn’t look away when Callum tilted Jude’s chin and pressed his mouth to his jaw. Didn’t blink when Callum dragged his lips towards Jude’s.
So Jude let it happen.
Callum’s kiss landed possessive and cruel, but Jude refused to close his eyes. They stayed fixed on Warren across the room, his anchor in the storm of heat and noise and smoke. Warren held the stare, unflinching, silent, all fire contained in the stillness of his gaze.
Then a new voice sliced through the din. Naomi’s. Calm, professional, entering the scene as though she’d been there all along.
“Mrs Radley, would you like me to handle this?”
Vivienne’s smile curved sharp. “Ah, Naomi. Wonderful. Yes. Could you take Ms Webb and her darling boy through to the kitchen? I’m sure we have something more suitable for little ones. He must have a healthy appetite by now, hm?”
Piper clutched her baby tighter.
“Of course, Mrs Radley.” Naomi took Piper by the elbow, easing her towards the kitchen. Piper resisted, just for a moment, her gaze snagging on Jude. Wide, startled, her lips parted—
“Jude?”
The name struck like a blow. His body locked, blood hammering in his ears. Recognition here, of all places, was the last thing he’d braced for. His throat worked, words rising and catching hard, choking back before they could escape.
And then another voice cut clean through the noise.
“Ah, Mr Ellison. I am so very pleased you could join my little gathering.”
Graham Radley’s words rolled smooth as oil, carrying across the space with an authority silencing a room without effort.
Suddenly he was there, closing the distance as though the air itself bent to make way.
His tumbler swung loose in one hand, his smile drawn thin and sharp, and he fixed is gaze on Jude, bright with amusement, dissecting him.
As though the weakness he wanted had already presented itself.
He didn’t offer his hand to shake. He extended it like a command, summoning Jude forward as though calling a servant to heel.
“Come. Let’s discuss what Radley Enterprises might do for your school.”
The weight of the room pressed down, every glittering guest suddenly background noise, nothing but shadows at the edges of Radley’s reach.
Jude’s pulse hammered against the wire taped to his chest, as though it might betray him before he opened his mouth.
Callum’s smirk widened, his hand brushing Jude’s arm, guiding him forward with mockery disguised as escort.
Radley turned, leading the way towards the corridor sinking below the house, down into darker halls where the sea’s roar was only a dull echo through stone.
And Jude followed, because he had no choice.