Chapter 16
CORA
“Bella, I don’t know how many times I have to tell you this, but I can’t just up and leave. Frankie needs me.”
Bella rolls her eyes on my phone screen.
Laughter trickles through the crack of the ladies’ room door. I turn down the volume down on my phone. “I really can’t have this conversation right now. It’s bad enough you’ve facetimed me at a bloody wake!” I hiss, the harshness of my tone reverberates across the tiled bathroom.
“Oh please, I wanted to see what you were wearing. I can’t trust the papers to tell me because they always get it wrong and you hardly ever text me back anymore.” I feel a rush of guilt as Bella takes a sip of her iced matcha latte.
“I’m sorry, things have just been… hectic.”
Bella gives nothing away. She has always been so much better than I at hiding how she really feels.
Despite her knack for giving people blunt honesty without sugarcoating her words, Bella doesn’t like to rock the boat when it comes to her friends and family.
She likes an easy life, which I could never blame her for.
“Yes I can see that. Page five loves to tell me your every move.” She tries to lighten the mood, clearly sensing the fact I’m all too aware of what a self centered friend I’ve been.
But I can’t hide my grimace. “Don’t remind me. This is all part of Benjamin Grenville’s almighty plan to change the public opinion of the Garricks.”
Bella snorts. “Well, he’s not doing a very good job of it. You look miserable in every photo I've seen. It’s like Frankie’s got you under his spell and you’re just letting him keep you as a hostage.”
How many times were we going to have this conversation?
“How many times do I have to?—”
“Yes, yes, I’m well aware you’re head over heels for the fit, tattooed drug dealer. A very poor choice, in my opinion, when you had the option of the duke on the table… Honestly Cora, I can’t understand your motivations behind any of this.” But of course she wouldn’t.
We were both brought up to forget any notions of true love.
Our sole purpose in the world is to breed healthy heirs with men that have land and titles.
I try not to rise to her. I know she’s cross with me; I’ve hardly been there for her since I arrived here in Birmingham, and Bella has a lot going on.
Is it so terrible of me to be so focused on Frankie and his recovery?
He’s been doing so well, the thought of leaving him now feels like it might break my heart into two.
“Well, as my best friend you have a duty to attend the ball at my place in two weeks. Bring Frankie with you; introduce him to society, try and make it a part of Ben’s PR plan.”
My eyes widen at the thought. While I would absolutely love to take Frankie to Bella’s ball, I’m not sure how he would cope. He would need conversation and etiquette training, not to mention the fact my parents and sisters will probably be there.
Oh god and there's only two weeks to go!
“I’m sure now’s not the best?—”
“Done! I’ve just texted Ben, so I’m sure he will go along with it.” She beams back at me and I want to shake some sense into her. This is probably the worst idea she’s ever had.
The sound of glass smashing in the other room, takes my attention from Bella.
“I have to go, I think things are?—”
The door is smashed to pieces as the heavy body of a man flies through it. He hits the tiles on the back wall, causing them to smash.
“Cora? What’s going on? Don’t you dare hang up on me. Give me the gossip in real time for once!” Bella demands, but I end the call without so much as a goodbye as the man starts to stumble to his feet.
Blood drips from the back of his head as Zach steps through the broken doorway, not a single hair out of place.
“Where’s Frankie?” My voice comes out strangled and high pitched.
Zach glances at me standing with my back to the wall, my phone still in my hand.
His silver eyes flash. “Ah, there you are. Time to go.” He fastens up his suit jacket and nods for me to leave the bathroom.
Not that he has to tell me twice. I quickly make my way back into the main area of the pub, leaving Zach to take care of…
whoever the hell that was. My eyes rake through the crowd trying to find Frankie.
It is total carnage here, like something you see in a gangster film.
I need to find him and get out. Tussling bodies are entwined with one another, some fall to the ground while others are thrown onto sticky tables.
Bones crunch and wood splits. Blood sprays from noses and mouths as fists fly, but the gloopy fluid blends seamlessly into the deep red carpet that looks older than the Grenville brothers.
A cold blade presses hard to my throat as I’m yanked against a solid chest. Shit.
“This ends now, Frankie. Or I slit your little girlfriend's throat.” The man’s accent is thick and hard to understand, but I’ve been around enough of my father’s foreign acquaintances to know exactly where he was from.
He's Russian.
My heart pounds as adrenaline surges through me like a bolt of electricity. Things had been tense over the last few weeks when it came to the different factions that made up the operation. I don’t pretend to understand it all, but I got enough to know that these people want Frankie dead.
“We know it was you that killed Malachi; admit it and atone for your sins, or you’ll pay for his death with her blood.” The man smells like sweat and vodka. As I desperately scan the crowd and still don’t see Frankie, a horrible thought passes through my mind.
What if he’s left me here to die? Afterall, he did want me to leave earlier.
Well, if there’s one thing I’ve absolutely had enough of in this world, it’s men deciding my fate.
I’m sick of my father trying to marry me off to the highest bidder to clear his debts, I’m sick of the Grenville brothers having control over everything, and—if I’m being totally honest—I’m sick of Frankie not admitting his feelings for me.
So I cast my mind back to the countless workout sessions that I’d put Frankie through to try to curb his appetite for alcohol and bring up the small bit of self defence he taught me.
I mutter a short prayer to the Louboutin gods before I slam my sharp heel down onto the Russian brute’s foot.
His grip loosens just enough for me to snap my head back into his face. With a grunt of pain, he let’s me go.
God, that felt good.
But there’s no time to bask in my new found bad bitch energy. I tot forward, ignoring the sharp pain that’s now shooting up my legs from the balls of my feet, into the crowd that’s still brawling.
It’s a total assault on the senses.
Dizzee Rascal blasts through the pub speakers as the shouts and cries of fully grown men fill the space.
I turn left and catch sight of Ben’s white-blonde hair, which is no longer perfectly coiffed for once.
The anger in his face matches his brutish frame as he slams a bald man in an Adidas tracksuit down onto the bar, face first. I swallow and hold back a scream as I watch the man's face literally split into two under the sheer force of the blow.
Holy motherfucking shit.
I turn right and Zach is having the time of his life.
He’s got a glass of whiskey in one hand and a cigarette hanging from his mouth as he bends back a man's arm into a position I didn't think was humanly possible.
His laugh cuts through the din of noise, and I remind myself yet again never to piss him off.
That familiar head of brown hair has to be here somewhere, but I still don’t see Frankie.
Everyone’s faces and bodies blur into one.
I spot the entrance and start to run to it when my feet catch on something metal and shiny.
My stomach lurches as I pick the handgun up off the floor.
Not quite my father’s fox hunting rifle, but this should do the trick nonetheless.
I click off the safety and glance around with it pointed directly in front of me. God this is useless. There’s no way I’m finding him in this mess. “Where is Frankie?!” I yell, but my voice is totally ignored.
Fuck sake. There’s only one thing for it. I lift the gun up into the air and point it at the ceiling of the pub. I close my eyes and pull the trigger.
Pain shoots up my arm, a scream finally letting loose from my lips from the shock of the loud bang and recoil.
Dust falls from the ceiling, and the fighting ceases just for a moment as they all turn to look at me.
I cradle my arm, my chest heaves up and down, and I squint through the dust at the crowd.
“I said, where the fuck is my boyfriend?!” Adrenaline buzzes through my veins and I finally understand why Louisa looked so euphoric that day in the maze.
It is shockingly wonderful being a badass.
“Okay, playtime’s over. Give me the gun.” Zach appears at my side and holds out his hand. Reality sets in quick.
Jesus I could have killed someone. I hand it over quickly.
“You know, if my soul didn’t already belong to someone else, that would have almost been attractive.” He gives me a dazzling side smirk that makes me want to throw up.
“Don’t you mean heart?” I ask.
His silver eyes harden and never leave mine as he turns the gun onto the crowd.
“No.” Zach fires into the crowd without so much as looking at where the hell he’s aiming.
My head whips around and I watch two bodies fall to the ground.
“You heard the lady, where the fuck is Frankie Garrick?” He pauses, everyone’s eyes are wide as they silently watch the gun like a hawk.
“Nobody knows? Fine, I'll just keep shooting Russians then.”
He fires another round.