Chapter Three

Chelsea

“Dad, I’m home.” I stepped into the vast kitchen that looked over an outdoor pool, a croquet lawn and then ancient woodland. There was no one around, so I dumped my bag on the marble island and went to the fridge to grab a bottle of Evian. My rage at Professor Andrew Deacon had not subsided on the journey home. He was a prize asshole. Fucking gorgeous asshole, but still…

“Ah, Miss Chelsea, you are returned from your studies. How was your day?”

Tina bustled in holding a pile of laundry, and I forced myself to smile. “All good, thanks. How has your day been?” There was an irritated edge to my voice, I couldn’t hide it.

She paused. “There is always lots to do in this big house.” She frowned. “Are you well?”

“Yes, fine, just coursework trouble, you know how it is.”

“I have no experience of such things.” She shrugged. “Your father will be home soon, he went to a lunch meeting.”

“Ah, one of those, okay.” Lunch meetings always involved expensive claret and rump steak.

“And there is chicken and salad in the refrigerator.” She walked away. “If you are hungry, Miss Chelsea.”

I glugged on the water. Hungry for food? No way. I was hungry for cock, and only one would do, but now the chance to get up close and personal seemed even farther away.

The Professor had had the perfect opportunity to fuck me over his desk hard and fast. We were alone, the rest of the university emptying for the day. For goodness’ sake, I wasn’t even wearing panties. How much easier could it have been for him to bend me over, kick my ankles apart, and shove his impressive erection into my sopping pussy?

“Miss Slutty Shoes.” I wrinkled my nose. That was the only reasonable explanation for him being able to resist me. He was seeing her. They were exclusive, and he didn’t want to spoil the stupid, pointless, fluffy thing he had going on with her. What he didn’t know was I could give him so much more…of everything.

If only he could stop looking at me like I was a student. I was twenty-seven, all woman and completing a postgraduate course. It put me in a totally different zone to the other students who had barely started their university education.

Didn’t it?

The sound of tires crunching on the gravel caught my attention. I went to the window.

Dad was home and getting out of his chauffeured Merc. His sports jacket strained over his increasingly rotund belly, and his jowls wobbled as he walked to the house. I worried about his health, and so did his doctors, but he wouldn’t be told. Some men believed they were invincible, immortal, and Hank Taylor was one of them.

“Hey, my pretty little Chelsea,” he said, wandering into the kitchen then embracing me.

“Hi, Dad. Good lunch?”

“Lunch meeting!” He waggled his finger at me. “Business meeting. Always things to do, you know.”

“You’re supposed to be retiring.”

“All play and no work makes Hank Taylor a very dull guy.” He laughed, though it was always strained these days. “How was uni?”

“Same old, same old.”

He frowned, his bushy eyebrows drawing together. “You have to get your head down, young lady, this research thesis will open doors for you.”

“If it doesn’t, I’m sure you’ll open them for me.” I finished my bottle of water and dropped it in the recycling. “You know people in high places, right?”

“That is not the attitude.” He burped. “Oh, sorry.”

I frowned. “But a fact.”

He reached for a crystal tumbler and poured whisky. “A fact your brother could have made good use of.” He used the glass to gesture around the vacuous kitchen. “If he were around.”

I scowled. “Vince has made his choices.”

“Crap choices, Chelsea, utter crap. We gave him everything, all of his life he had a silver spoon sticking out of his mouth. The best private schools, he’d traveled the globe before his twenty-first birthday, hung out with the stars, trekked Antarctica, all at our expense, and now…now he’s just fucking gone when we need him most.” He knocked back a mouthful of drink. “Gone off with those…those lawless troublemakers who all deserve to be slung in jail and the key thrown away.”

I rubbed my temples. This was a familiar rant after a few drinks, and I had no answers for my father.

“They just do what they want, the law means nothing to them. Why he had to get mixed up I have no idea.”

“I’m sure he’ll see his mistakes and come back,” I ventured. “Eventually.”

“You live in a fantasy world.” My father slammed his glass down. “He’s sworn an oath to The Beasts, even had their goddamn logo tattooed on his back.”

“How do you know?” My eyes widened. I hadn’t seen Vince for eleven months, and he hadn’t answered my calls either. I was desperate for news. “Did you see him?”

“No, course not.” He rolled his eyes. “But I have been keeping an eye on him. What kind of father would I be if I didn’t?”

“Where is he?”

“With his big tough motorcycle club.” The scorn in his voice was snake-like.

“Here? In Oxfordshire?”

“No, from what I hear he’s been in Wales and now headed north. That’s what they do, they roam around looking for trouble.” He poured another drink. “Your mother would turn in her grave.”

My mother being mentioned always felt like a slap to the face when it came out of the blue. Although this wasn’t completely out of the blue. My father used her, the memory of her, to express his disappointment in Vince often enough. Maybe, if I was being kind, it was because he’d lost them both so close together.

“I have work to do.” I reached for the tote bag that held my thesis, or the very start of it anyway. “I’ll see you later.”

“Sure thing, sweet pie.” He held up his glass. “I’m proud of you, you know.”

“Thanks, Dad.” I made my escape before he went from being angry with Vince to gushy about me and then emotional about Mum. Tina could tend him if he needed anything other than a long sleep to digest his lunch and the alcohol.

I went to my room, a luxurious space in white and pale pink. French doors led to a balcony that this time of year was hung with a pretty lilac clematis that wound over the balcony. I dropped my bag on the outdoor table and sat heavily. I could really do with my brother right now. Not to talk to about the professor, he wouldn’t understand that in a million years, but to cope with Dad and his increasingly heavy drinking and march toward a coronary. We’d be orphans soon if he carried on.

Vince and I had been close growing up. He was only two and a half years older than me. Building tree houses had been fun, so had horse riding, kayaking on the Cherwell, and hiking in the Berkshire Downs with our three King Charles spaniels.

But when Mom had died suddenly, Vince had become angry more than sad, he’d been bitter and resentful of everything, and then he’d just vanished, leaving me at home to cope alone.

I missed him, the old him, every day.

But he wasn’t coming back. He’d jumped on the huge Harley he doted on and gone off with like-minded guys. The sort who lived hard, lived by codes, and lived the way they damn well wanted to.

The last time I’d seen him he’d had his knuckles tattooed and was dressed head to toe in leather. My father and he had a row that must surely have been heard from space. I’d kept out of the way in my bedroom, muffling their anger with a pillow over my head. The fury spurting from each of them was intense, their battle with words as harsh as blows to the jaw and guts.

My heart had pounded, my tears had flowed, and then eventually, after a final insult, Vince had straddled his bike and ridden away.

I hadn’t seen him since, and it broke my heart all over again.

* * * *

Andrew

“Hey, Andrew.”

I looked up at the sound of Dalton’s voice and dropped my smoke on the pavement, ground the toe of my boot onto it. “Hey.”

Grant was with him, tall with blond hair poking from a black baseball cap. It was clear he was nervous to see me.

As he should be.

“Didn’t think we’d see you again.” I pushed away from the wall and shoved my hands into my pockets. I’d changed to black jeans and a black rollneck. A bandana patterned with the Union Jack sat at my neck, ready to be lifted to conceal my face if necessary.

“You said you were cool with him being here.” Dalton frowned.

“Know what, I didn’t. I said I’d be cool if he was up for the job.”

“I’m up for it.” Grant scowled. “And shit, I’m sorry, I take full responsibility for fucking up last time. My bad, man.”

“Too right it was.” I stepped up to him and jabbed his chest with my finger. He needed reminding who was in charge here. “And you put the whole fucking crew at risk. Something happens to us, who dishes out justice, huh? Then where will this country be?”

“I know, I know.” He glanced at Dalton. “Maybe I should go.”

Dalton sighed. “What do you reckon, Andrew?”

I held my palms out. “Nah, you’re here now, stay, and it’s only one asswipe to deal with. With three of us, what can go wrong?”

“Murderer and rapist, right?” Grant balled his fists. In his day job he was a banker, did stocks and investments and stuff. “All women.”

“Yep, all young women.” Dalton yanked down his cap and pulled up his bandana that matched mine. He worked as a doctor and ran a hospice, helping people when they were having the worst time imaginable. If anyone understood how precious life was, it was him, and that also meant the gravity and enormity of taking a life wasn’t lost on him either. “Let’s go.”

We started to walk back along Old Knight Street. We’d do a recce and make sure Ray Icke was eating alone the way he usually did. We also wanted to check there weren’t any of his runners around—we didn’t want complications.

Grant definitely didn’t need complications. If he cocked up, he’d be out. No coming back. We had to have rules for our own protection.

“Yeah, he’s alone,” Dalton said as we strode past the near empty late-night café.

“No one else around either,” Grant added. We ducked into a side alley only a few steps from the entrance. “Not that I can see.”

“No, this place is as empty as it gets.” I was pleased about that. Sometimes the city was buzzing late evening, but it was a Monday, so we’d hoped it wasn’t a party night.

“Got a plan?” Dalton asked me.

“The usual plan.” Out of habit I touched the gun in the waistband of my pants; the cool metal was pressed up against the hollow of my back. “Make sure he knows who we are and why we’re here and then ensure it’s not too quick. He didn’t let his victims off without suffering.”

“Got ya.” Grant nodded and shuffled from one foot to the other. His clean-shaven face was in shadows, and his eyes sparkled with anticipation. “We can do that.”

“Cover yourself.” I heard the café door bang and then footsteps.

“Want me to do the honors?” Dalton said.

“Sure.” I nodded. My heart rate had picked up, and for the first time in hours, thoughts of Chelsea flew from my mind. I had to concentrate.

“Hey, man,” Dalton said, stepping onto the street. “You got the time?”

“Fuck off and get a watch.”

I stiffened, so did Grant. We were Rottweilers ready to attack. Our professor and banker personas long gone.

“What’d you say to my friend?” I stepped up, next to Dalton.

“Yeah, that wasn’t polite?” Grant was at my side.

“Who the fuck are you?” Ray Icke shoved his hand into his pocket. “Get off my turf.”

“Your turf?” I said. “Sounds like you could get us some weed, eh?”

“I told you, fuck off. I’m closed for the day.”

“Ah, that’s a problem,” I said. “’Cause we’re not closed.” I didn’t give him time to withdraw a weapon, just threw a left hook at his chin and sent his head snapping backward.

Blood spurted to the right, and his eyes widened. My speed had surprised him.

And Grant was equally quick. He grabbed Ray’s arm and dragged him into the alley so we could have some privacy.

“Get the hell off me. Don’t you know who I am? You’re dealing with the real fucking deal here and—”

“Shut the hell up, Ray Icke.” Dalton delivered a blow to Ray’s guts, doubling him over.

“Argh.” He groaned and staggered backward then hit the damp brick wall. “How do you know my…?”

“Name?” I asked, shoving my hand into his pocket and withdrawing a handgun. “How the hell do you think we know?”

“I don’t fucking know, otherwise I wouldn’t have asked.” He straightened and glared at me.

“Okay, so how about the names of the women you’ve murdered and raped, remember them?” I studied his gun; it was nice. Perhaps I’d use that to kill him, save using up one of my own bullets.

“I didn’t murder or rape no one. Those charges were dropped.” He managed to look indignant despite his precarious position in a dark alley with three big guys who had come searching for him.

“Ah, I see.” I nodded slowly. “You think because your clever lawyer created some reasonable doubt and you employed a dash of witness intimidation you got away with it.”

“Nothing to fucking get away with. I’m innocent.”

“Is that so?” Dalton asked. “So how come we don’t believe you? How come our own investigations say otherwise?”

“Fuck your investigations, they don’t mean shit.”

“They do when we believe them, when a whole group of us believe the facts and can see the lies.”

“A whole group of you? What are you? Some kind of vigilante wannabes?”

“Got it in one.” I raised his own gun so it was pointed at his chest. “You’re smart as well as a fucking asshole.”

“I’ve had enough of this shit, it’s been a long day.” He glanced in the direction of the street. “Get out of my way.”

“You’ll go when we say you can.” Dalton was blocking his way, also holding a gun now.

“Yeah, we still got questions,” Grant said, his gun flashing in the shadows.

Ray’s eyes were wide and his shoulders tense, but he still tried to maintain an air of cool. “Look, guys, sorry about the time thing, yeah, I’m fucking knackered, and if you want some weed I’ll go get it now. I’m only a few streets from my pad.”

“We don’t really want weed.” Dalton shrugged.

“And we’ve all got really nice watches.” Grant flashed him his Rolex.

“So what do you want?”

“We want justice, we want what those women’s families want, to see you dead and buried and rotting. Not a breath of air in your lungs, not a lying word left in your sorry mouth.”

“I’ve got a kid, okay, and a woman.”

“Who will be better off without you,” Grant said, his eyes flashing above his bandana.

“I…I…” Ray looked from Grant to Dalton and then me.

For a moment I thought he was going to try and run, but then he slumped against the wall and his eyes misted. “I’m sorry okay. I’ll turn my life around, I’ve been trying to. I can go straight and make amends. I’m so sorry, real sorry, man.”

“Sounds suspiciously like a confession?” I tipped my head and studied him. “Is it?”

“Whatever? I’ll say whatever you want me to.” He held up his hands in surrender.

“It’s too late for words.” Grant raised his gun so the business end was pointed a few feet from Ray’s head.

“Yeah, this conversation is over,” Dalton said, aiming at the murderer’s chest. “Words can’t bring those women back or undo your sins.”

“Get ready for the heat,” I said, my finger on the trigger. “Lots of heat.”

“Heat?” Ray appeared confused.

“Yeah, it’s gonna be hot as fuck in Hell.”

“What, no, wait, please I—”

“One. Two. Three.” I shot.

So did Dalton and Grant. All three bullets hitting Ray at the same time. We’d never be sure which one killed him, but dead he was. Before he even hit the ground.

Another score for Galahad and the good of mankind .