Chapter 21
The night air cut through my jacket as we pulled up to the dilapidated block of flats in Manchester.
A cold, miserable drizzle had started halfway through our journey, leaving everything with a slick, greasy sheen that reflected the sparse streetlights.
The building itself was a concrete monstrosity, the kind of place where hope came to die, stained walls, broken windows patched with cardboard, and graffiti that screamed obscenities at passersby. Perfect place for scum to hide.
Our three-car convoy parked at irregular intervals along the street, a tactical decision to avoid drawing attention.
I stepped out, the damp air filling my lungs with the stench of piss and garbage.
Logan emerged from the driver's seat beside me, his face carved from stone, eyes glacial with focused rage.
The housemen, Max, Owan, and the others, gathered around us, their expressions grim but determined.
None of us spoke. We didn't need to. We all knew what we were here for.
What I wasn't expecting was the sleek black Range Rover that pulled up silently behind us, nor the imposing figure that stepped out of it.
Nicholas Bale, dressed in tactical gear rather than his usual bespoke suit, moved with deadly purpose toward us.
Four of his men flanked him, faces I recognised from various Bale operations over the years.
"Fuck," Logan muttered beside me, tension radiating from every line of his body. "What the hell is he doing here?"
I watched as Nicholas approached, noting the way his men spread out with practiced efficiency, securing the perimeter. This wasn't just backup. This was a statement.
"Logan," Nicholas greeted his son, his Cockney accent thick in the night air. "Thought you might need an extra hand." Logan's jaw clenched.
"I didn't ask for your help." Nicholas's smile was cold, predatory. "Didn't offer it as a choice, did I?" He surveyed our group, nodding at Max with recognition before his eyes settled on me. "Bowers." I inclined my head slightly.
"Mr Bale."
"Dad," Logan said, his voice tight with barely controlled fury, "we can handle this. You don't need to be here." Something shifted in Nicholas's expression then, a flicker of emotion I'd rarely seen from the crime boss.
"The girl's been through enough," he said, his voice dropping lower. "She's family now, far as I'm concerned. And nobody-" he paused, the steel in his voice unmistakable, "-nobody fucks with my family."
The words hung in the damp air between us.
I studied Nicholas Bale's face, searching for the manipulation, the angle he must be playing.
But all I saw was genuine rage, tightly controlled but burning hot beneath the surface.
In all the years I'd known him, I'd never seen Nicholas Bale personally involve himself in an operation like this.
He gave orders; he didn't get his hands dirty. Not anymore. Yet here he was, the head of one of the UK’s most feared crime families, suited up for a raid on a squalid flat in Manchester. For our Cade.
The realisation hit me with unexpected force.
Cade, who'd been with us less than a year, who'd fought us every step of the way, had somehow worked her way into all our lives so deeply that even Nicholas fucking Bale considered her family.
Logan seemed to come to the same realisation, his shoulders dropping slightly as he nodded once, a silent acknowledgment of his father's presence.
"Fifth floor, flat 32," he said, all business now. "Two men inside, possibly armed. One goes by ViperChaos online." Nicholas nodded, turning to his men.
"Secure the exits. Nobody gets out." The men moved immediately, melting into the shadows around the building.
"Max, Owan," Logan continued, "you and the boys cover the stairwells and hallway. Cole and I will take point." He looked at his father.
"You're with us?" Nicholas checked his weapon, a sleek handgun I doubted was legally registered.
"Right behind you, son."
We moved as a unit, silent and focused, entering the building through a broken security door.
The stench inside was worse: urine, mould, and the unmistakable sweetness of decay.
Syringes littered the floor of the entryway, and the walls were coated in a layer of grime that appeared to have accumulated over decades.
The elevator was out of service, a permanent fixture in places like this.
We took the stairs, our footsteps echoing in the concrete stairwell despite our attempts at stealth.
The housemen positioned themselves at strategic points as we climbed, ensuring no one could slip past us unnoticed.
By the time we reached the fifth floor, my body was humming with adrenaline, a cold focus settling over my mind.
Logan and I exchanged a glance as we approached flat 32, the peeling numbers barely visible on the door.
I positioned myself on one side, Logan on the other, while Nicholas stood back slightly, his weapon at the ready.
Logan nodded once. I returned it. And then we moved.
Logan kicked the door, the cheap lock giving way instantly with a splintering crack.
We burst inside; the world narrowing to threats and targets and the pounding of blood in my ears.
The flat was a cesspit, trash everywhere, the stench of unwashed bodies and rotting food hanging in the air.
But what cut through it all was the sound, screams, high-pitched and desperate, coming from somewhere down the hallway.
"Down there," I hissed, already moving down a narrow hallway, kicking all kinds of shit and rubbish out of my way. The closer we got, the screams grew louder, more frantic. The door at the end was ajar, spilling sickly yellow light onto the landing. I shouldered it open, Logan right behind me.
The scene that greeted us burned itself into my retinas, adding another horror to the collection that haunted my dreams. Two men, one holding down a woman on a filthy mattress, the other between her legs, pants around his ankles.
Her face was bruised, eyes wide with terror and something else, the flat resignation of someone who'd been through this before.
Something snapped inside me. All I could see was Cade in that cell, Cade at the mercy of monsters like these.
Logan moved first, crossing the room in three strides and delivering a vicious kick to the face of the man between the woman's legs.
I grabbed the second man by the back of his greasy hair, yanking him off her with enough force to send him flying into the wall.
He crumpled to the floor, dazed but conscious.
"Go," I told the woman as she scrambled to pull up her underwear, her movements jerky with panic. "Get out of here." She looked between us, fear giving way to confusion, then bitter anger.
"Fuck all of you," she spat, gathering her torn clothes and pushing past us to the stairs. I didn't try to stop her. This wasn't about her; we weren't her saviours. We were just monsters of a different kind.
I turned my attention back to the men. Logan had his target subdued on the floor, blood streaming from the man's nose where Logan's boot had connected.
My guy was struggling to his feet, his eyes darting around the room for a weapon or escape route.
I stepped forward and drove my fist into his gut, doubling him over before bringing my knee up to connect with his face.
He went down hard, spitting blood and teeth onto the stained carpet.
"Sit the fuck down and don't move," I growled, shoving him next to his friend. Both men glared up at us, bloodied but defiant.
"The fuck is this?" the first man demanded, wiping blood from his chin. "You cops?" Logan laughed, the sound devoid of humour.
"Do we fucking look like cops to you?"
"That bitch owed us," the second man said, his words slurred through swollen lips.
"She didn't pay for her shit, so we were collecting another way.
" The casual cruelty of it, the entitlement, sent a fresh wave of rage through me.
I stepped forward and kicked him square in the mouth, feeling teeth give way under my boot. He fell back, howling in pain.
"Cole." Max's voice came from the doorway. I turned to see him standing there, a laptop in his hands. "Found this. You need to see it." I moved to his side, leaving Logan to watch our captives. Max's expression was grim as he turned the screen toward me.
"I've accessed their files. The videos of Cade are here, along with evidence of an auction they were running on the dark web.
I've already shut it down and wiped the listings.
" I stared at the screen, my stomach turning to lead as I caught glimpses of thumbnails, Cade's purple hair, her tear-streaked face.
I couldn't let myself look closer, couldn't bear to see what those files contained.
"Show Logan," I said, my voice sounding distant to my own ears. Max nodded and moved past me to where Logan stood. I heard his sharp intake of breath, followed by a string of curses that would have made a sailor blush.
"Who gave you these files?" Logan demanded, rounding on the two men. "Who the fuck supplied you with these videos?" The first man, the one I'd kicked in the mouth, spat blood onto the floor.
"Fuck off." Max glanced up from the laptop. "This one's ViperChaos," he said, nodding at the man who'd just spoken. "Found his login details." Logan crouched down in front of ViperChaos, his voice dangerously soft.
"I'm going to ask you one more time. Who gave you the videos?" ViperChaos sneered, revealing bloodstained teeth. "What's it to you, anyway?" I saw the muscle in Logan's jaw twitch, the only warning before the storm broke.
"Some college kid," the second man blurted out, clearly reading the room better than his partner.