Vendetta (The Allegiance Series) Read online

  VENDETTA

  EDIE BAYLIS

  For Jess – my fellow Scorpio and friend

  CONTENTS

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  More from Edie Baylis

  About the Author

  Peaky Readers

  About Boldwood Books

  PROLOGUE

  19 JANUARY 1996

  Dan Marlow didn’t hide his wish to catch the barman’s eye through the hatch specifically placed for shouting orders. It always paid to appear chilled out and not too intent on the job in hand. It might make him look a prize mug not having his eye on the ball, and although most people might have an aversion to making out they weren’t the brightest spark, Dan did not. Doing it this way was what pulled the cash in.

  ‘Another pint, please,’ he shouted in the direction of the miserable stocky man serving the punters in the main room.

  Putting away plenty of drinks was always noted too – it lulled people into a false sense of security, allowing them to assume he was half-cut.

  Dan inwardly grinned. He’d got this down to a tee, but in all fairness, he’d have been happy to give this particular sit-down tonight a miss. He and Mickey had done okay for themselves around the London pubs this month, so he’d have preferred not to push his luck.

  For the third time, they’d cleaned up with bells on at the Joiners Arms and their reputation in Clapham was now sailing too close to the wind to be comfortable, hence they’d had to venture further afield. Not so far afield, mind – Streatham, to be precise. But far enough away from Clapham to slow the speed of the grapevine.

  South London might be a big area, but nevertheless, it was important to take this one slow, so as not to arouse suspicion.

  He glanced at the intent faces around the separate room at the back of the Bricklayers Arms. There was a shedload of money up for grabs tonight, which was why Mickey had insisted they come. Personally, Dan would have preferred to wait a while longer, but what he thought rarely counted.

  Dan nodded his thanks as his fresh pint was placed on the hatch, ignoring that the sullen barman sloshed two inches of his beer onto the stained wooden shelf. This would be the last drink, anyhow.

  Chucking his cigarette end on the floor, Dan ground it out with his heel.

  He’d pulled in a couple of small wins tonight, making sure to lose more than he’d won until the last minute, as previously agreed. Everything was going to plan. Now, seeing Mickey’s barely imperceptible blink to signify the off, he waited for the cards to be dealt.

  The odds had raised to a level where it was all or nothing, so it was a good job Dan knew he would clear up. Mickey was so good with his sleight of hand, so bloody expert, even knowing what would happen, Dan was yet to physically see it. The man was a genius – an absolute fucking genius.

  Dan covertly scanned the huge pile of notes in the centre of the scuffed table. There was only him and one other player left – an old bloke sweating so much he looked a prize candidate for a coronary.

  Knowing all eyes were on him, Dan mirrored the old man’s flash of worry on his own face as he glanced at his cards. It never paid to look confident, and he didn’t much like the look of several of the people here who had already been forced to fold.

  Dan concentrated on the one remaining player and sat tight as Mickey worked his magic, dealing from the bottom of the pack.

  The opponent picked up his cards, his slight flinch giving Dan all the information he needed to know. The guy was fucked.

  He slapped his cards face down on the table and scooped up the pile of money. ‘Think this is mine,’ Dan grinned, standing up. ‘Cheers, fella. That’s me done for tonight!’

  He’d contain his glee for just a while longer until he met up with Mickey at the prearranged spot down the road. All he had to do now was leave, which shouldn’t be difficult.

  Mickey gathered the cards up. ‘Another game, anyone?’

  A squat man with a long scar down the left-hand side of his face pushed himself away from the wall and snatched the remains of the deck out of Mickey’s hand. ‘Let’s just check these.’

  Dan froze. What the fuck was this? He glanced at Mickey, who appeared outwardly unruffled.

  The man spread the cards on the table. ‘I’ve heard about you two from the Pig and Blanket,’ he snarled. ‘Yep, look! Just as I thought. This wanker has been dealing from the bottom!’

  As the other men’s faces twisted with rage, Mickey upended the table as a diversion. There had always been a get-out plan in the event of this happening. They’d never needed it before, but they sure as hell needed it now.

  Seeing Mickey already exiting out of the small back room in the confusion, Dan started towards the door.

  Slipping on the loose cards scattered on the floor, he lurched forwards and as a meaty hand closed around the back of his neck, dragging him back into the room, he could do little about it.

  Shit.

  Dan’s mind raced. ‘Wait! It’s not what you think. I…’

  ‘What about the other one?’ someone yelled.

  The heavy-set man with his hand around Dan’s neck cast him to the beer-drenched floor. ‘I don’t give a toss about him. This fucker’s the one with our money!’

  Dan grinned, even though there was a boot across the front of his neck holding him still. ‘No hard feelings, boys.’ By pretending none of this was happening, he remained calm as his pockets were rifled through, relieving him of his winnings. ‘You’ve got your money back now, so no harm done.’

  The squat man leant over Dan’s prone form and snarled, revealing a gap at the front of his selection of stained teeth. ‘That’s what you think, cunt! You’ve pushed your luck one time too often around these parts. We don’t like cheats. I’ll make sure neither of you play anywhere around here again.’

  Dan’s eyes widened as the man pulled a meat cleaver from his inside pocket. Shit, shit, shit! ‘Let’s not be hasty. You’ve got your money back now, so I…’

  ‘Hold the fucker still!’ the man snarled to the others in the room.

  Dan struggled pointlessly, the grip on his arms and legs too strong. Seeing the meat cleaver rise, his eyes bulged. The last thing he lucidly recalled before the raging pain kicked in was watching with a strange, detached fascination as the fingers on his right hand were effortlessly removed.

  1

  ONE WEEK LATER

  Marina
Devlin glared at Dan downing another can of lager. She’d broached this subject several times, but he’d refused to discuss it. He’d refused to discuss anything this past week, and she was sick to the back teeth of it.

  How she wished she’d walked away from Dan when she’d had the chance, rather than trying to prove the choice she’d made two years ago had been the right one.

  She’d really liked Dan at first – really liked him – so she’d gone against everyone’s advice to steer well clear of him, including that of her brother, who had told her time and time again that Dan was a loser only out for himself.

  Marina stubbed her cigarette out and scowled. Yeah, how she wished she’d listened to Grant. Dan was a loser. And not just a loser, but a loser with a gambling problem, as well as a self-inflated sense of his own ability.

  Since this belated realisation, it had been one thing after another – each episode worse than the last, leaving her further trapped. Because if she walked away now, she’d have to admit that she’d been wrong.

  And she wasn’t doing that.

  Dan’s latest idea of becoming involved with Mickey Devlin – Marina’s good-for-nothing father – was the last straw.

  And now this.

  Marina’s eyes tracked to the grubby bandages on Dan’s hand and she shuddered. Getting his fingers cut off? How could he have allowed that to happen?

  For God’s sake, Grant was right. Dan was a useless, deluded bastard and all that had kept her going this past year was scheming how she could get rid of him. And not just out of her life, but out of life in general.

  It was all she could think about.

  Grabbing her cigarettes, Marina sparked up another. She might as well smoke herself to death. Why couldn’t Dan have got himself killed, rather than just losing his fingers? At least it would save having to arrange it herself. Plus, as a broken-hearted girlfriend left without means, she’d be eligible for decent benefits.

  That was about all she’d got going for her these days.

  So much for London being paved with gold. Whoever coined that saying needed their head read!

  ‘Are you doing breakfast?’ Dan muttered, ash dropping from the end of his cigarette onto his bare chest. ‘Shit!’ he yelped, brushing it off with his good hand. ‘Unless you fancy relieving me of my frustration?’ He wrapped his arm around Marina’s waist, his morning erection pushing eagerly against the small of her back.

  ‘I’d best get up. Time’s getting on.’ Marina edged out of Dan’s grasp. Being around him made her skin crawl. How she hated him.

  Getting out of bed, she pulled her dressing gown around her nakedness and tugged her long blonde hair from the neck of the robe.

  She hadn’t slept a wink again last night and was still tossing and turning when dawn broke this morning. She was shattered. She had to do something about this situation.

  Marina watched Dan fumbling to open another can of beer with one hand, sick of putting up with his pathetic excuses. ‘What are we going to do?’

  ‘It will be okay, you’ll see.’ Dan inwardly grimaced. Every bloody day she went on about this. He glared at the remains of his hand. Exactly what the fuck was he supposed to do? He couldn’t even work in bastard McDonald’s like this. Not that he had any intention of working anywhere like that.

  It was all very well Mickey saying things would be easier once his hand had fully healed, but it was all right for him. It wasn’t like he’d lost half of his fingers, was it? The final insult was, not only was being with Marina like shagging a corpse these days, but she’d turned into a nagging witch, which pissed him off. Everything pissed him off. But not quite as much as what he’d learnt last night.

  Mickey might have escaped unscathed from those loons in the Bricklayers Arms, but the man was right about one thing. Now other disgruntled participants from their previous poker games were queuing up to recoup their losses, he stood to lose a hell of a lot more than just his fingers…

  Dan glared back at the shorter version of his hand. At least Mickey had come up with a viable workaround. Marina wouldn’t like it, but that was tough.

  ‘Dan?’ Marina repeated. ‘Did you hear me? I said, what are we g…’

  ‘I heard what you said,’ Dan snapped. How could he not? Her droning on was driving him bloody mad, so he might as well just tell her the news. ‘We have to leave.’

  Marina frowned. ‘Leave? What do you mean? Leave where?’

  Dan waved his arm around the bedroom. ‘Here. This place. This town.’ He gritted his teeth. ‘This whole bloody city!’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ Marina screeched. ‘For Christ’s sake, unless you’ve forgotten, we’ve got no money, so where would we go?’ She paced around the room. ‘It can’t happen.’

  Dan’s face screwed into a scowl. ‘It has to happen.’

  Marina stopped pacing and glared at Dan. ‘Or what? You’ll leave?’ That was the next best thing to him being dead. ‘Go on, then! Leave! I’ve had enough! Off you go!’

  ‘Fine! I will! But I don’t advise that you stay. You’ll end up losing those good looks of yours!’ Dan snapped. ‘I’ll spell it out for you. It’s simple! There are people after my fucking head!’ He dragged the fingers of his good hand through his knotted hair. ‘I discovered the extent of it last night, and it’s worse than I thought. We need to go. We’ve got no choice.’

  Marina blinked. Lose her looks? She wasn’t losing her looks for anyone – they were all she had left.

  Dan reached for Marina’s hand, shrugging as she batted him away. ‘Look, I know I’ve caused problems, but this is important. If I’m not here, they’ll come for you. You don’t know what these people are like. I dread to think what they’d do to a stunner like you, purely to spite me.’ Was it finally sinking into her bloody head? ‘They’ll have even more reason to hurt you when they find out you’re Mickey Devlin’s daughter!’

  Marina swallowed uncomfortably. Was Dan serious? She might have known her father would make things worse. Dan was usually the eternal optimist – another example of his delusions. But this…?

  ‘Your dad said he’d lend us money,’ Dan continued. ‘And he…’

  ‘I want nothing from him! Do you hear me? Nothing!’ Marina screamed. ‘Nor do I want anything off you!’

  ‘Oh, come on, it’s not all bad. Think about it. See it as a fresh start. There will be new opportunities up there and…’

  Marina’s heart thumped painfully. ‘Where? Up where?’

  ‘Birmingham. Mickey says we can stay with your mother.’

  ‘My mother?’ Marina screamed. ‘No way! You know I won’t do that. That woman, she’s…’

  ‘Listen, you stupid cow. Did you not hear me? People are coming for payback and I’m a sitting duck. We are sitting ducks…’

  ‘Jesus Christ,’ Marina spluttered. ‘What the fuck have you done?’ How she hated him. She’d thought things were bad ten minutes ago, but now things had surpassed even a useless hand.

  ‘What have I done? It’s more like…’ Dan stopped as a plate smashed over his head and Marina started screaming every single obscenity she knew.

  ‘I didn’t expect to hear from you.’ Grant Devlin eyed his father suspiciously. He’d worked out a long time ago their father was only out for himself. As was their bloody mother.

  Why else would he and Marina have ended up in care?

  It had taken Grant a long time to find a place in the world and discover something he could do well, yet the last time he’d been stupid enough to allow Marina to talk him into visiting their mother, he’d vowed never to put himself in a position again where the selfish old bitch could make him feel as worthless as he’d felt that day.

  As it was, it had taken years to override the inferiority complex he’d had as a child, and he didn’t need reminding of the time he’d felt lower than a dog’s dick because neither of their parents wanted them.

  To be honest, Grant had very little recollection, if any, of the day they’d been taken away. He and Mar
ina were only dots when they’d been put into care, but he did remember the occasions when both he and his sister got excited about the impending visits from their mother.

  Grant clenched his jaw. He’d even convinced himself she would take them home, so they could be a proper family. That way, they’d no longer have to put up with the endless digs from the other kids at school, calling them the ‘ones no one wanted’.

  His brow knitted. Despite the constant let-downs, he’d clung onto that bizarre hope for years. He’d been stupid and it must have been a full five years of their mother failing to turn up for one single visit before he finally accepted she was a cunt.

  Thankfully, once he’d come to this realisation, it became easier to plough on with life and, by twenty-eight, he’d done all right.

  Having been surrounded by violence and ne’er-do-wells since he could remember, it had been second nature to consider that a viable job prospect. And with a bit of brains, luck and damn hard work, he’d excelled in various jobs for dubious firms over the years. So much so that he now worked for himself as a freelancer – a gun for hire – accountable to no one and free to make his own choices.

  He even put up with occasionally talking to his so-called father, but the man showing up unexpectedly at his local pub meant only one thing. Trouble.