45. Zane

Chapter forty-five

Zane

A s Marcus hangs up the phone he turns to me like he's suddenly lost all flexibility in his spine. His swallow is audible.

"Alex?" I gasp, feeling a cold chill of dread running down my spine.

"Huh? No." Marcus frowns at me, thrown by my mention of his son. "Desmond was seen near Jasmine's flat."

"Lenny, get over there and see what you can find," I bark. He nods, shouts for two guys to accompany him, and then hurries from the room.

"Marcus?"

"I'm sorry, okay? I can't help but think about him."

"I understand. Jump in the car with me, I'll do the driving."

"Thanks, Dad."

Knowing Lenny has gone ahead, I pause to select three men to jump in the car with Marcus and I. We've been chasing rumours all day, but this seems a solid lead—enough to get Marcus's mind off of Alex.

Approaching Jasmine's house feels like the first time I stalked her here, disposing of one body for her is just the start of our relationship. This man's death will be more meaningful, for both of us. This time she'll appreciate the actions I am undertaking for her.

"Keep your eyes peeled," I murmur, feeling the cool metal of my firearm against my side. It's a dark and dismal place, we're as likely to find Lenny hiding in the dusky light as we are Desmond. I'm unsure if I can trust Marcus's focus as we exit the car.

Lenny's hand signal catches my attention—a fist raised, then two fingers pointing toward the alleyway adjacent to Jasmine's place. He's seen something, or rather, someone. Without a word, we alter our course, slipping into the darkened corridor between buildings.

There, cloaked in the darkness of a side alleyway, is one of Desmond's thugs, a lanky figure who has made the fatal mistake of lighting a cigarette, its ember glowing like a beacon of guilt. Lenny doesn't hesitate. He surges forward, and within seconds, he has the man pinned against the wall, the cigarette crushed beneath a steel-toed boot.

"Talk!" Lenny hisses, his voice barely above a growl. His hand is wrapped around the thug's throat just tight enough to make a point without cutting off air.

"Easy, easy!" the thug rasps, terror flickering in his eyes as he glances from Lenny to me and back again. "You don't want to do this. Desmond... he'll have my head."

"Your head will be the least of your worries if you don't start talking," I interject, stepping closer to reinforce Lenny's threat. "Where's Desmond?"

"Look, I-I'm just a messenger, right?" he stammers, his bravado unravelling as quickly as his composure.

"Then deliver your message," I press, letting the cold edge of my voice underscore the seriousness of our intent.

"Okay, there is no message. I'm just here to watch the flat. I just have to tell Desmond if the girl comes back."

"So you have his number?"

"I g-guess?" The man gives a shrug that almost kills him.

"So where is he?"

He swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing visibly against Lenny's hand. "Desmond… he's got a lead on Jasmine's mum. Found an address in the flat. He's gone there to find her."

"Why does he think she's there?"

"Well he thought she was at yours, but the little kid, he said she weren't there."

The words hit like a physical blow, sending a surge of adrenaline coursing through me. I exchange a glance with Lenny, who nods sharply, understanding the gravity of the situation. We know what Desmond is capable of—the kind of terror he brings with him. And now he is going after Jasmine's mum.

"Did you beat my grandson? Cos I'll have your head." My fist swings forward into the dickhead's face.

"I'll deal with this joker," Lenny offers, giving me a nod. "He'll regret laying a finger on my nephew. You go after the mum."

I leave Lenny and his thugs to deal with the man, knowing Lenny needs to vent over Alex's assault as much as me and Marcus.

Without another word, we withdraw from the alley, the mission clear and more urgent than ever. Desmond has made his move, and it is time for us to make ours.

My thumb hovers over the call button, the weight of urgency pressing down. Jasmine's name lights up the screen, as I initiate the call that would pull her into the fray.

As soon as the line connects, I speak without preamble, "Jasmine, I need your mum's address."

There is a sharp intake of breath on the other end, a rustling that suggests she's standing abruptly. "Why? What's happened?" Her voice quivers with barely contained panic. My eyes glance across at Marcus as I climb back in the car.

"Desmond," I reply succinctly. The name alone sufficed; it carried the weight of all our fears. "We think he has your mum's address."

"Okay, okay," she stammers, rattling off the address with haste etched in her tone.

"Text it to me, I'll have Marcus look it up." The engine roars into life as I start the journey. "And Jasmine, how is Alex?" Marcus will kill me if I don't ask.

"He's good. He's opened his eyes and even said a few words, but he is sleepy and doesn't stay awake for long."

"Stay safe," I tell her before ending the call. We can't afford more words; every second squandered is a second Desmond uses to his advantage.

Marcus sighs; a little stress leaves his shoulders. I wish my mind could focus on my grandson's improvement, but I have to protect Jasmine's mum and any siblings still at home. She's already lost too much to mafia influence.

"Got it," Marcus announces, transferring the postcode from my phone into the satnav. "Let's go."

The car lurches forward, tyres protesting against the tarmac as we speed through the city's veins. Buildings blur past us, indistinct and unimportant compared to the task at hand. As the city bleeds out into the countryside. I'm faced with nothing but an open road for two hours.

"Petrol station, on the left!" Marcus suddenly barks, his eagle eyes spotting the prey before anyone else. The turn is sharp, a manoeuvre that would've been reckless if not for the high stakes. I still don't see the target as I slow the car until the bright lights of the forecourt. Marcus is out of the car and running before I've even come to a stop.

"Go the fuck with him!" I yell at the three in the back, as I exit the car to follow.

Desmond's car, unmistakable in its ostentation, sits by a pump, its owner leaning against it with the arrogance of a man who believes he is untouchable.

"Desmond," Marcus calls out, his voice deceptively casual. "Fancy seeing you here."

Desmond straightens up, a smirk playing on his lips as if he relishes the encounter. "You got nothing on me," he says with a cocky tilt of his head, his eyes gleaming with defiance.

"Let's have a chat anyway," Marcus proposes, the underlying threat in his tone clear as the glint of steel. "Somewhere less flammable, yeah?"

Desmond's eyes narrow, the gears in his mind visibly turning as he weighs his options. The moment hangs suspended, a standoff amidst the smell of petrol and the distant hum of the city.

"I didn't hit the kid," he defends.

"He's got bruises that suggest otherwise."

And just like that, the scene is set, and the players are ready. If Desmond believes his own lies, he can come quietly instead of making a scene and draw attention to us.

"Edward's got a proposition for you," I call out to Desmond, my voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through me. The lie rolls off my tongue smoothly, a baited hook cast into the murky waters of his self-preservation.

Desmond's eyes flicker momentarily, his smugness waning as he processes the information. He knows Edward, our silent but deadly employer, and the mere mention of him seems to rattle Desmond's confidence. However, the shadow of doubt is quickly replaced by suspicion. "A business deal, huh?" He scoffs, taking a step back. "After what happened to the kid?"

His instincts are sharp; he can smell the trap. The muscles in his legs tense like coiled springs, and without another word, he bolts. He dashes between the fuel pumps, his feet slapping against the concrete as he makes a desperate bid for freedom.

Marcus reacts with predatory swiftness, his body launching forward with an athleticism that belies his size. His long strides eat up the distance between him and the man who comatosed his only child. Desmond glances over his shoulder, panic etching his features as he realises he won't outrun his pursuer.

"Halt, police!" I call to the two bystanders who glance up.

Just as Desmond reaches the edge of the forecourt, Marcus pounces with the precision of a trained operative. His tackle is a textbook manoeuvre, both men crashing to the ground in a tangle of limbs.

I'm on them a second later, my breaths heavy with exertion. Our law enforcement cover won't last long if Marcus starts pummelling the shit out of this guy.

"Let's not ruffle anything before he hears the deal Edward is offering."

Together, Marcus and I hoist Desmond up from the ground. His resistance is futile against our combined strength; his body going rigid with indignation as we manhandle him toward the car.

"Get off me!" Desmond spits, struggling to free himself from our iron grip. But it is no use. We force him into the back seat, Marcus shoving him down while I secure the door, trapping him inside between my two new favourite thugs. The third climbs into Desmond's car, pulling forward out of the forecourt.