Chapter Eight

 

Kat arrived outside the Bakers Arms in Amersham as the sun was dipping behind the rolling green Chiltern Hills. The traffic was heavy on the journey out of London, and she’d tapped her foot all the way, anxious about missing Nick Turnbull. She’d paid the driver a hundred and twenty including tip, climbed out, straightened her dress and set her face ready for business.

The pub was an old Tudor style building. Built with heavy grey stones and a thatched roof, it had several entrances surrounded by luxurious spring-flower hanging baskets. Kat chose the entrance nearest the car park and scanned for the Mercedes. With a flutter of nerves, she hoped tonight of all nights Carlos’s information would be accurate and her hit would be waiting.

With a breath of relief, she spotted the expensive silver car. It was parked in a corner, huddled by trees as if trying to hide—hide from her.

A satisfied smile spread across her face, and she trip-trapped through the pubs swing door. The plan was ready to go. Soon, she would be rich–very rich.

She sashayed up to the dark wooden bar, perched on a stool and ordered a large glass of white wine from the bearded bartender.

It wasn’t until she’d paid and taken a sip she allowed herself to look for her hit. She knew Nick Turnbull was here because his car was outside, so she could afford to relax—a fraction.

The place was half full. Couples sat eating at small tables, and a group of girls cackled away in the corner over wine. Kat took a celebratory slug of her drink, and as she did so, she spotted a single lone gentleman to her left. He was relaxing in an armchair by a glowing log fire.

It was him.

Nick.

He was easy to recognise from his photo. He was even wearing the same outfit Carlos had snapped him in; dark suit trousers and a white open shirt. Like John, he was a good-looking guy, and Kat wondered why he was on his own. Why he’d become a target.

To the side of him sat an empty dinner plate with knife and fork crossed, a set of car keys and a half drunk pint of lager. He looked at home, as if sitting in this pub having dinner was very much part of his daily routine.

Nick was engrossed in his Financial Times which ruled out catching his eye and smiling to tempt him over. He required a different tactic. Something more proactive.

Kat slid off the bar stool, reached for her wine and walked towards his table. He didn’t pull his attention from his newspaper until she stood right in front of him, almost touching him.

“Excuse me,” she said in a low voice and letting a shy smile curl her lips.

Nick pulled dazzling blue eyes from his newspaper and let his gaze float slowly up Kat’s body. A flash of appreciation crossed his face, and he smiled and raised his eyebrows.

“Would you mind if I sat in this chair…if it’s free, that is?” Kat indicated to the empty armchair opposite him.

“Be my guest.”

“Thanks.” Kat sat and crossed her legs so her dress hitched, showing lace topped stockings. “I’m meeting a friend,” she began. “But I forgot my wrap. It’s been so sunny today, and I thought I would be warm enough without it.” She twisted and held her palms to the fire; the movement lifted her dress another inch. “But it’s gotten so cold now, and I’m freezing sitting at the bar.” She treated him to killer smile. “Are you sure you don’t mind me sitting here until my friend arrives?”

“I don’t mind a bit,” he said, returning her a smile. “Where’s your friend coming from? The traffic is bad tonight.”

“Oh, I know.” Kat rolled her eyes and avoided the question about her imaginary friend. “I hate Friday night traffic. It’s nearly as bad as Monday morning traffic—don’t you just hate that?”

She settled back on the plush armchair as he headed off on a conversation about the road systems in and around London, the widening of the M1 and the evils of the congestion charge.

All Kat had to do was sit back, relax and listen. Smiling and nodding in the right places and fiddling with her necklace so he had to keep dragging his attention back up from her chest if he wanted to maintain some semblance of decency.

She finished her drink and sat for a while with an empty glass, wondering if he would ever notice and offer to refill it for her.

Finally, she made a show of lifting the empty glass to her lips and draining the very last drip.

“Can I buy you another drink?” he offered.

She reached across the space between them and gently pushed his shirtsleeve up his wrist. “My friend is so late.” She sighed, peering at his watch. “I should message her and make sure she’s alright.” She tickled her finger against his skin as she pulled her hand away.

“You do that, and I’ll get us both anther drink.”

“Well, only if you’re sure. Please say if I’m keeping you from something.”

Nick shook his head as he got to his feet. “You’re not keeping me from anything at all. White wine again?”

Kat nodded as she reached for her mobile.

Nick returned with wine for her and a cola for himself. “Driving” he explained as he set them down on the table. “Is your friend still coming?”

“No.” Kat reached for her drink with a frown, took a small sip and let the tip of her tongue retrieve the moisture from her lips. “She’s had a family crisis poor thing. Not sure what. She’ll tell me all about it over the weekend, I expect.”

“I’m sorry about that.” Nick looked unsure of what to say next.

“But, Nick, if she had turned up, I wouldn’t be sitting here with you, would I?” Kat smiled flirtatiously as she crossed her legs.

He started to smile, but instead, his face creased in puzzlement. “I didn’t tell you my name.”

Kat’s heart somersaulted. How could she have made such a stupid slip? Tonight of all nights. He was right. They hadn’t swapped names yet. She kept her face soft with a smile dancing on her lips, hiding the turmoil going on inside.

Frantically, she searched for a way to smooth over her error. To make it right and charm herself back into his affections. She turned her head to buy thinking time, her gaze falling on the table that held his folded Financial Times and his set of keys.

His keys!

“Lucky guess.” She grinned, turning back to his mystified face. “Your key ring. I guess they’re yours sitting on the table.”

Nick turned to where Kat was gesturing. Sure enough, attached to his keys was a neat gold square with NICK in black lettering embossed across it. His face cracked into a broad smile. “Very clever.” He picked up the keys and dropped them into his front trouser pocket. “So,” he said, his expression relaxed and light once more, “are you going to tell me your name or do I have to guess? It could be a long night.”

Kat laughed and told him her name, rested back in her chair and took a drink. That had been close. She’d nearly ruined everything with her mistake. She allowed herself a few minutes for her heart rate to return to normal. Then decided it was time to turn up the flirting to full power—hit him with it between the eyes and everywhere else.

Folding her arms, she sent her cleavage oozing out of the top of her dress as she leant forward to listen to what he was saying. She fiddled with her hair, twisting it around her fingers, showing him how heavenly it was to touch and how much she liked to be touched. She crossed and uncrossed her legs far more than was necessary and made a point of licking her lips slowly after every mouthful of wine.

She included physical contact in her assault. Touching his arm to add weight to things she was saying and stretching out her hand to feather his hair when he complained about going grey.

Eventually the barman rang last orders, and she looked at Nick from under feathery lashes and said huskily, “Time to go.”

Nick reached out and took her perfectly manicured hand in his. “Would you like to come back to my place for a nightcap? My car is right outside.”

Kat glanced down at her purse and bit on her bottom lip.

“Just a nightcap, a coffee if you’d prefer.”

“Well…I do think a coffee would be nice after all this wine.”

“Great,” Nick said, jumping up. “Back in a minute, wait here.” He spun lightly and headed towards the gents.

Kat watched his retreating figure and hoped the next part of the evening wouldn’t take too long. She just wanted to get the car to Carlos and find the diamonds.

But Nick seemed pliable enough. It was just a shame she hadn’t managed to get him drunk. That would have been a much easier end to tonight’s hit.

 

* * * *

 

From a distance, John had watched Kat all evening.

He’d seen her walk over to Nick like a damsel in distress, followed Nick’s lusty gaze as he’d roamed Kat’s tight, black dress taking in her sensual curves. He’d watched then as she’d crossed her legs to show off the top of her stockings and saw Nick’s eyes nearly pop out his head at the sexy view.

Within minutes, Nick had looked like a lovesick puppy, and John wondered if he’d looked as stupid the week before when Kat had worked her magic on him. But looking at her now, he reckoned he’d fall all over again and he could see why Nick was. She looked good enough to eat. Hell, he’d certainly fallen for it again. He was completely off the wagon. So far off the wagon it had driven into the distance and he couldn’t even see it.

But, despite his brooding expression, John was doing pretty well. Watching them have a drink and chatting was fine. He could cope with that. He was there and could see what was going on. But when all the touchy feely started, he could sense something like fury growing inside. Except it wasn’t fury on its own. It was mixed with possessiveness and nausea, a feeling of being out of control and something of his being taken.

Stolen.

He’d watched Kat touch Nick’s arm and hover her fingers on his knee and John’s fists had balled. His jaw had clenched when she took a lock of Nick’s blond hair between her fingers and smiled close to his face as if she was really enjoying his company.

But the diamonds stopped him from reacting further. He needed them, tonight, and if watching Kat with Nick was all he had to do, he could manage that. After some of the things he’d endured over the years, it should be effortless.

But his shoulders were knotting, and his knee throbbed without the benefit of whisky. He wasn’t sure how much more he could take.

At the last orders bell, he saw Nick take Kat’s hand and ask her something. With a shy smile, she nodded in agreement to his suggestion.

It was the expectant, smug look on Nick’s face as he made his way to the gentleman’s restroom that finalised John’s decision. It wasn’t a rational decision, and it deviated from his plans. But damn it, there was no way he’d let Kat even get in a car with that man, let alone into his bed.

 

* * * *

 

Nick had just finished washing and drying his hands, humming a quiet tune, when the gent’s door swung open. He looked up and spotted a big guy in leathers, short dark hair and heavy glinting eyes which looked through him without expression.

He thought little of it. His mind was full of Kat, full of what he wanted to do with her once he had her alone in his apartment. He could almost picture her naked. She’d shown enough cleavage for him to imagine the weight of her breasts in his hands, and he was sure her skin would smell of petals and taste of sherbet.

“Evening,” Nick said as he walked past the stranger and went to open the door.

He never made it.
He didn’t stand a chance.
With one hand outstretched for the handle, a sudden crushing force dug into both sides of his neck. He went to turn and fight but was rammed against the chipped wood of the door. It took three seconds for the pressure on his carotid arteries to stem the flow of blood to his brain. Darkness travelled inwards from his peripheral vision, and by the time it centralised, he’d given himself over to unconsciousness—completely helpless in his fight against it.

 

* * * *

 

John felt Nick’s slumped body drag downwards, his legs no longer supporting him. But he held the pressure hard on his neck for a few more seconds to be sure he was out cold.

He kicked open the nearest toilet door and hooked his hands under Nick’s armpits. He dragged him into the cubicle and shoved him against the grimy wall. John helped himself to the car keys, stepped backwards out of the cubicle and pulled the door shut with the tips of his fingers. With his knife, he spun the sign to occupied, locking it at the same time.

He didn’t feel guilty. The sucker would have a stinking headache when the landlord found him in the morning. But at least he wouldn’t remember anything important.

He pulled the gents door open and strolled into the bar area.

“Time to go,” he muttered as he reached Kat.

“What are you doing here?” she whispered, snapping shut her compact and glancing at the gents.

“Change of plan.” He pulled her up by her elbow.

“What do you mean change of plan? I haven’t got the keys yet.”

Urging her along, John shouldered the door open and pulled her into the cold night air. He whipped the Mercedes key from his pocket and swung them from side to side in front of her face. “No, but I have.”

“Bloody hell, what have you done with Nick?”

“He’s having a little sleep in the gents. No one will hear from him until morning. Now come on, we’ve a job to do.”

Kat stood rooted to the spot. “You hit him?”

“Well, no, not technically. There are other ways to render someone unconscious you know.”

“Yes, I know that. But I’ve never actually left someone unconscious in a toilet. What if he chokes on his own vomit or something?”

“He won’t choke.” John reached down for her hand and pressed the key into it. “Let’s get going. The lecherous Mr. Turnbull will be fine.”

Kat still didn’t move. “I don’t want accessory to murder added to my already impressive list of crimes. We have to tell someone.”

John stepped forward, wound his arms around her waist and snapped her close. He looked down at the anxious shadows etched on her face and, in her eyes, caught a hint of stubbornness. “You’re playing with the big boys, Pussy Cat. People get hurt. Let’s just hope it’s not you.” He pressed a hard kiss on her mouth. “Now, for fuck's sake, get to the drop off point.”

 

* * * *

 

Kat killed the headlights and rolled the Mercedes to a halt directly outside the bank. Fifty yards up the street, she could see Carlos waiting in his red BMW.

She glanced around, looking for John’s outline. She had no idea where he was, but he’d be lurking somewhere in the inky shadows.

Pulling her nerves together, she pushed open the car door and climbed out. She walked towards Carlos who’d already shifted his bulk out of his car. Someone in the car’s passenger seat slid across and started the engine. The headlights clicked back to full beam.

Her heart thudded so loudly she was sure it could be heard externally. She fiddled with the key as Carlos grew closer and swallowed hard, but her mouth was dry and her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. She tried to keep up a steady pace and walk in a straight line towards him as she usually did. She didn’t want anything to be different.

The light of an orange lamppost sent a scatter of shadows as he walked directly under it. His menace was palpable in the cold air as he hulked along, swaying his bulk from side to side. Finally meeting, his arm rubbed against her shoulder and she dropped the keys into his upturned hand. There was no break in his heavy footsteps, no change in his rhythm. He kept on walking, pounding the pavement towards the Mercedes.

Kat breathed out. She hadn’t realised what a big gulp of air she’d been hanging onto.

She braced as a gang of youths spilled from a doorway. Laughing and blowing fragrant smoke from roll ups, they glanced her way and laughed harder as one of them made a lewd comment.

She saw Carlos’s red BMW drive off. Its driver, presumably one of Carlos’s lackeys, now satisfied his boss had made a successful scoop.

Ten more paces into the darkness, and the Mercedes perfectly tuned engine rumbled to life mixing with the youths’ fading cackles.

Shit! Where the hell is John?

Was he baling out on her? Had he left her and chased after the jewels alone like he’d wanted to all along? The abandonment thoughts were raining down like bullets when she heard her name whispered from a dark doorway.

“Hurry up, will you!” John thrust her leathers towards her.

Kat didn’t hesitate. She was so relieved he hadn’t dumped her. Quickly, she shoved her legs into the trousers, hitched her thin dress into the waistband and whacked her arms into the jacket sleeves. The bike’s engine fired but the lights stayed off.

 “Quicker!” John instructed as the Mercedes glided past them; Carlos’s bald head silhouetted as he sat with his hands casually on the steering wheel.

“I’m going as fast as I can,” Kat puffed, dragging up the zipper.

“Go faster,” John growled. He revved the engine and flicked the stand up.

Kat wriggled her feet back into her high heels and yanked the helmet over her head, by which point John was rolling out the doorway cursing. “Ready.” She threw her leg over just as the bike flew off.

Linking her fingers at his waist, she leant forward and pressed her helmet into his back as they bumped down from the pavement. The headlights flicked on, and she settled in for the ride.

 

* * * *

 

By the time they’d hit the road, Carlos had turned the corner of the High Street and was out of sight. John whacked the bike to full throttle to reach the end of the street at double the speed limit. He hoped the cops he’d seen patrolling earlier had been called to business elsewhere. They were the last thing he needed right now.

He cursed Kat again for the fact he’d lost sight of Carlos. She’d seriously slowed him down by insisting on coming with him. But the Mercedes was a big noticeable car, and he reckoned Carlos would be heading for the motorway. In anticipation, John skipped the lights and swung to the left. Racing under a tall brick railway bridge, he opened up the engine for a few hundred yards as he approached a flood lit roundabout.

There he is.

John rammed on the brakes, and their bodies slid forward with deceleration. Carlos turned—as John had predicted—towards the motorway and London.

Once on the M1 he fell back so they wouldn’t get noticed. Ducked and dodged, mingled and became invisible, inconspicuous. John relaxed into the job, knowing it would take a while. He felt his adrenaline release slow down and became aware of Kat's arms tight around him and her helmet pressing against his back. He soon got into a rhythm of staying several cars behind the Merc, letting other vehicles swing in and out of the lanes between them and using them as cover.

Carlos, John noticed, kept the car in the slow and middle lanes. Indicating his changes carefully and following lane discipline rules to the letter. He stayed a good distance from the cars in front and was being careful not to draw any unwanted attention to himself.

The street lamps whizzed continually past, and the dazzling headlights on the opposite lanes seemed never ending. But, finally, they hit North London. A few high rises and warehouses later and Carlos exited the motorway. He headed for the North Circular, travelling in an easterly direction.

John followed, keeping a red Royal Mail van between them. The roads got smaller after several sets of traffic lights and an interchange. He continued to keep a generous distance, switching lanes and slipping behind other vehicles when the post van had taken a different route from theirs.

Eventually, he brought the wheels to a quiet roll in a street devoid of lampposts. Flicking the lights off, they came to rest behind an overflowing, rotten smelling skip.

The left side of the street was made up of several small, scruffy warehouse units, all in complete darkness. Dotted amongst them were a couple of abandoned, boarded up shops, and at the end, facing them, was a short row of two up, two down terraced houses. A dull light shone from one, an upstairs window with ragged, haphazardly drawn curtains.

Along the opposite side of the street ran a high corrugated fence propped up with iron girders, and in peeling, white paint, a shaky handwritten sign advised ‘Private Property. Keep out!’

Carlos had brought the Mercedes to a halt beside large metal gates. He kept the engine turning over and the lights on but made no move to climb out.

The front door of the end terrace house swung open, spilling a puddle of bright light onto the street. A tall, gangly youth shot down the double front step and into the road. He was dressed in green overalls and had a backwards baseball cap perched above his long, thin face. He took several rushed paces towards Carlos with his hand delving into his baggy overall pocket. He ground to a halt at the gates, fiddled with the padlock then swung them open.

Carlos manoeuvred the stolen car through the gates and slunk into blackness.

Kat slid off the motorbike.

John followed, pulling at his helmet. “Well, we know where Carlos’s yard is. Now, let’s go and get my Porsche.”

 

* * * *

 

Kat snapped off her helmet and studied the imposing, sharp gates. She didn’t fancying going anywhere near Carlos again tonight. She was just about to voice this when John grabbed her around the waist.

He dragged her behind the skip and crouched his body over hers.

“Hey!” she said, indignant at the rough treatment.

“Shh, someone’s coming out.”

Kat froze in her doubled up position. She heard an engine then headlights lit up the street like a floodlight.

“Was it him?” she whispered when the car had gone from view.

“Yeah, but he’s switched. He’s in the BMW again now.” John clicked his tongue in frustration. “Shit, I was about to go in there and fuck him up.”

“Shall we follow?”

“No, he’ll be back at some point.”

Kat reached her boots from the box on the back of the bike, laced them and stood upright with renewed enthusiasm now Carlos had left the vicinity. “Come on. Your car might still be in there.” She turned and trotted across the street, her footsteps silent and her outfit melting into the blackness.

She walked up to the gate and silently pushed the left one with the flat of her hand. The gates parted in the middle around the heavy chain.

I can do it. Just.

Like an expert contortionist, she put her right leg and right hip through the small space.

“What the hell are you doing?” John said through gritted teeth.

“I’m going to find your Porsche. Wait here…and be quiet!”

With a little wriggle she was on the other side of the gate, standing in Carlos’s yard full of stolen cars. Some of them—many of them—products of her own skillful handy work.

Without so much as backward glance, she weaved around several cars, none of which were Porsches, and went on towards a long, low building the size of four double garages. It had blue wooden doors, not quite shut, and she could make out a low window at the side.

She stooped and ran, her boots carrying her noiselessly on the uneven, concrete surface. She placed her palms on sleeping cars as she moved around them, stopping and starting frequently and checking out her next move.

Her adrenaline was flowing, her breaths shallow. Every instinct told her to get as far away as possible from anything of Carlos’s. But the thought of the diamonds urged her on. She was on a mission, a mission to become rich.

Reaching a vantage point where she could spy through the window, Kat hooked her fingers over the sill and cautiously raised her head. Past a bundle of heavy cobwebs thick with London soot, she could see the inside of the brightly lit workshop.

There were two cars side by side, a yellow Lamborghini, nothing to do with her, and the Mercedes. Tools were spread around the floor as were tyres, seats, radios and a steering wheel. Only one person was apparent. The man she’d seen opening the gates for Carlos. But he was only just a man, because as Kat studied him, she realised he was probably not even out of his teens. He had a stretched pale face, over sized hooked nose and a wet mouth hanging open formlessly—the whole mishmash of features made all the worse by the fact they were surrounded with angry red acne and a greasy tug of hair which poked out of his cap.

The new Mercedes was up on jacks. She saw him lean right inside, and suddenly, the air was filled with banging rap music. As the youth’s head reappeared, it bobbed around in time with the fast beat.

Feeling confident the youth wouldn’t pose a problem even if he did see her, Kat scanned the rest of the garage. Surely there was some sort of desk in the building. Somewhere Carlos would keep a record of his illegal business, a tracking system for the cars he shifted through. She strained to see into each corner, looking for any signs of paperwork, a computer, a filing cabinet—anything. But there was nothing other than car parts and oily rags, hundreds of cans of spray paint and bottles of polish—nothing to suggest record keeping.

But there was a door, right at the back, and judging from its position along the wall on which she was leaning, it wasn’t flush with the end of the building. It must be a doorway into another room, hopefully an office.

She flicked her attention back to the youth. He was tucked under the car now, his feet twitching to the booming rap.

Heart racing at the thought of entering deeper into Carlos’s domain, she nipped past a pile of rusty old oil drums to the front of the workshop and slipped inside.

Her breath caught high in her throat as she passed within a few feet of the mechanic’s feet.

She reached the door, pushed down the handle and stepped inside.

She was greeted with a Formica desk strewn with a great pile of papers.

Yes!

Immediately, she began to rifle through them. If Carlos had information on where the Porsche was, it must be on this desk…somewhere.

Scanning the familiar scrawling writing, she hunted for the word Porsche. Any word that started with P was treated to scrutiny. She accidently dropped a pile of papers onto the floor and bent to sift them back together.

She shoved them onto the desk and flicked through a pad of post-it notes. Pulled at one of the drawers underneath; it was locked. She hunched and put all her weight into it. Heaved with all her might. Willed the little lock to break so the drawer would open and give up its secrets.

I need to get in there.

A cold, hard, sickening pressure was suddenly applied to the right side of her head.

She froze.

Bent over and with her fingers wrapped around the drawer handle, she ceased all movement and, with horror, realised the cold, hard thing pushed against her temple was the wrong end of a gun.

“Well, well, well,” Carlos’s low, menacing voice rumbled directly behind her, “what a nice surprise to see you here, Kitty Kat.”

The poked harder, and her neck jerked, sending a bolt of pain to her shoulder blades. But she ignored it. She was too terrified to do anything. Her only awareness was cool metal at her temple and the imminence of her death.

“Stand up, bitch,” Carlos instructed.

She straightened and turned to look at his bloated face. His evil eyes bored into hers for several long seconds. Then he swayed backwards and swept his gaze over the leather gear she wore. When he looked back up, there was a lusty glint mixed with brutish hate in his eyes. It scared her nearly as much as the gun did.

“You’re looking very fuckable tonight.” The left side of his lip curled up in a disgusting leer.

Kat gagged as his rancid breath hit the back of her throat.

“Not what you were wearing earlier. And you were so early tonight, very unusual. You usually like to spend a few hours getting fucked first.” He cackled. “Maybe I could help you out with that, what do you reckon?” His free hand cupped her right breast and squeezed— hard.

Kat clenched her teeth to prevent crying out as a jolt of pain seared through tender tissue.

“Mmm, you’re making me horny, I haven’t shagged a pussy cat before. Will you purr or will you yowl?”

“There’s a good reason I’m here. Honestly, I’ll explain ev…everything if you give me a chance. Please.”

“Too fucking right you’ll explain, just as soon as I’ve shown you what happens when you slink into my yard.” His yellowing teeth gritted and little drops of his revolting spit landed on her face.

He reached for the zipper on her jacket, snagged it down and pushed his hand inside. He grabbed her breast through her thin dress. His fingers were hard, tight and mean. Kat whimpered and squeezed her eyes shut.

“You like the rough treatment, do you?” He pulled the gun from her temple and shoved it under her chin. The sharp movement caused her neck to hyperextend until she was looking directly up at his face.

His hard groin and fat stomach pressed into her abdomen. He yanked her dress and bra. It tore and revealed bare flesh over the ripped material.

“No, please, Carlos, no.”

“You better change that to ‘yes, Carlos, yes’.” His lips hovered above hers, and his gold fillings flashed as he contorted his face into a carnal smile. “You’ll need to shout yes when I fuck you. Yes, Carlos, oh, yes.” He made his voice high and singsong. “Oh, please don’t stop, Carlos. You’re the best.”

Kat trembled and tried to shift her head away from the gun.

“Keep fucking still.” He tugged the waistband of her trousers. “Take these fucking things off and then bend over my table you seem so damn interested in.”

Kat whimpered and didn’t move.

“Now, whore.”

With shaking hands, she reached down for her fly. She was about to be raped by the most revolting man she’d ever met. The brute of her nightmares. Her pelvis muscles trembled, her lungs wheezed.

She pushed her trousers down an inch then cried out as Carlos spun her around and curled his fingers over her waistband. He yanked and she tensed all her muscles as he shoved her forward, the gun sinking into the base of her skull as he fumbled with his own zipper.

“I think you’ve taken enough of what belongs to me.” A sudden, deep voice rattled from the doorway.

The gun swung from the back of Kat’s head.

She seized the opportunity and scrambled to the corner, where she tugged up her trousers and zipped her jacket.

Like a demented ogre, Carlos hulked to the centre of the room. “Who the fuck are you?” he shouted over the thud of the rap music.

With renewed horror, Kat saw the gun aimed directly at John’s heart.

John said nothing. He just stared at Carlos, his belligerence palpable.

Kat swayed as she hugged her arms over her chest. Everything moved in slow motion. Sheer panic altered her vision.

Carlos was more than capable of murder, and he was pointing a loaded gun at John’s chest. Her legs buckled in an effort to remain upright. It would go off at any moment. The room would fill with the sound of gunshot, and John would fall to the ground…dead…dead…dead. It would be all her fault. He’d come to her rescue.

She primed her ears for the noise and braced for the unimaginable horror. They were at Carlos’s non-existent mercy.

“I’ve seen you somewhere before, arsehole,” Carlos snarled as he took a step towards John.

“Yeah, and I’ve seen you before, you son of a bitch,” John growled back. “But like I said, you’ve something of mine and I want it back.”

“Yeah…I do know you.” Carlos let a knowing smile form on his lips. “Kat took your Porsche last weekend. I trailed you personally, checking out your haunts and where you lived. And you…” he snorted, “are one sad, whisky-guzzling cripple, John Taylor. You need to get out more, live a little, get a damn life before you’re old.” He jerked the gun upwards so it was aimed at John’s forehead. “Oops…I guess you won’t be making old age after all,”

John stepped into the office.

Carlos’ face twisted. “I swear on my mother’s grave, man. One more step and you’re blown to smithereens!”

“Been there, done that,” John responded keeping solid eye contact and taking yet another step.

Kat clasped her hand to her mouth and slumped several inches down the wall.

John’s gaze slipped over Carlos’s right shoulder and watched her.

Carlos swung his head around following John’s eye movement. It was all the distraction John needed. With one big stride, he grabbed the outstretched arm pointing the gun at his head and, with an expert flick of his wrist, twisted the limb up and around Carlos’s broad back.

“What the fuck!” Carlos shouted.

John peeled the gun out of Carlos’s fat hand and slipped it into the back of his waistband.

“You don’t know what a mistake you just fucking made,” Carlos snarled over his shoulder before trying to throw his big, lumpy head back into John’s face.

John ducked sideways and rammed his hand into the back of Carlos’s short, thick neck. With a sharp forward thrust combined with an ankle sweep, he doubled him over the table. Carlos’ chest hit with crashing force, and the air whooshed from his lungs. John leant his weight even harder on the arm twisted up his back.

Carlos yelled out in agony, a deep grunt of a scream that echoed around the office and mixed with the thumping music.

Kat was motionless, watching with morbid fascination as Carlos’ floppy, red cheeks turned a deep shade of puce and his eyes screwed up and disappeared into his skull.

 

* * * *

 

John, still not content with how much pain Carlos was in, leant even harder down on his twisted arm. As his weight sank lower and lower, heavier and heavier, he finally felt a satisfying pop as the ball of Carlos’s humorous leapt from its shoulder joint.

The roar of torturous suffering was like that of lion being castrated.

“Like I said, you have something of mine,” John growled into Carlos’s ear in a quiet, calm voice.

“Get the…fuck off…me,” Carlos gasped, spraying a shower of saliva onto the papers.

John leant harder onto the dislocated arm, which rewarded him with yet another roar. He then shoved his thumb up and under Carlos’s jaw, causing his neck to stretch backwards. “Where’s my damn Porsche?”

“Is that what this is about? A fucking Porsche.” Carlos spoke in a strangled voice. “I hope it’s worth it, ‘cause your life won’t be worth living after this. Every contact I have will be after you when there’s a million pound bounty on your head.” He was dribbling now. “You’ll be hunted till you’re hung drawn and quartered with your pretty fucking head above my front door.”

John whipped the gun from the back pocket of his leathers and rammed the barrel into Carlos’s right temple. He didn’t want Carlos to mistake what it was—the gun about to take his life. He twisted so he could speak into Carlos’s puggy red face crumpled on the surface of the table. “Look at me, you son of a bitch.”

Carlos kept his eyes shut and puffed wetly through parted lips.

“I said, look at me!”

Carlos pried open his beady black eyes.

“I’ll ask you one more time, then your shit-for-brains hit the desk. Where. Is. My. Porsche?”

Carlos stared straight into John’s dark, steady gaze. When he said nothing, he was treated to another sharp dig in the head with the gun.

“I will kill you, do you think I won’t?” John said quietly and calmly.

Carlos squeezed his eyes shut. “I’ll tell you,” he muttered. “I’ll tell you alright. Just get the hell off me.”

“Talk!”

“West Hampstead.” Sticky white spittle clung like a cobweb between Carlos’s lips. He clenched the desk, the letters h-a-t-e standing out on his knuckles as the blood drained from the skin.

“Address?”

“I dunno. I…I can’t fucking remember.”

The trigger on the gun flexed—a deadly click.

“132 Priestly Ave. 132 Priestley.”

“Yeah,” John said. “And what damn colour is it now?”

“I dunno. I can’t fucking remember stuff like that that,” Carlos whined. “Honest. I got no idea.” He banged his fist on the table in frustration, a small, futile act of defiance.

“Would a bullet to your fat leg jog your memory?” John removed the gun from Carlos’s temple and shoved it to the back of his thigh, folding it deep into the soft, giving flesh and feeling hugely tempted to pull the trigger anyway. It would feel good to send a bullet ricocheting into the prick who’d had Kat doing his disgusting dirty work and been just about to…

Bastard.

“B-blue, it’s blue. Metallic blue.”

John pulled up, leaving a grovelling Carlos slumped on the desk, his arm hanging formlessly towards the floor. He looked at Kat shrinking into the corner with a sheet-white face and her wide eyes unblinking.

He shoved the gun into his waistband again and held out his hand. “Come on.

She didn’t move. Not a muscle.

“Time to go, Pussy Cat,” he said in a gentler voice.

Kat kept her eyes fixed on Carlos, who was pushing up from the desk with his one good arm.

Carlos then shifted towards her with his right arm hanging at a weird, unnatural angle and the other fist clenching and unclenching. His face was contorted with pain, hate, and vengeance—all directed Kat’s way.

John took a step towards him and, in an effortless movement, knocked both Carlos’s feet out from under him.

Carlos hit the floor, landing flat onto his dislocated arm, the entirety of his own body weight slamming onto the twisted limb. His face puffed up, and he screamed like a wild man.

Perfect.

John leant down. He waited until the scream had died to a whimper then spoke in a deadly tone. “Stay away from Kat or you’ll have me to deal with, and I promise on my mother’s grave, if I have to see you again, you’re dead. Do you hear me?”

Carlos said nothing.

“Do you fucking hear me?” John shouted and lifted his boot ready to slam into Carlos’ head.

Carlos nodded frantically.

“Good.” John pulled the gate key from Carlos’s left jacket pocket, stepped over to the corner and took Kat’s hand. “It’s okay now,” he said, pulling her towards the doorway. “I’m here. He won’t hurt you again.”

John wanted out of there fast. It hadn’t gone according to plan. Having a gun at Kat’s head was worst case scenario, and later on, when he was alone in the dark, he’d replay the sight of her with a gun rammed at the back of her head and Carlos looming over her with his fat, grotesque body preparing to hammer into her soft little sweet one.

Round and round in his mind, like a reel of film, it would go on forever. John would feel the terror and the sickness all over again. Want to kill Carlos all over again for putting his perverted hands on her.

But there was no time for those thoughts now. Emotions had to go on hold. It was how he’d been trained. He had to concentrate on the mission—132 Priestly Ave. He needed to get there fast. He had the information he’d been hungering for all week, and now, he wanted to act on it.

They walked back through the brightly lit garage, not bothering to keep a low profile. Carlos’s young mechanic was still underneath the Mercedes, his scruffy trainers twitching to loud rapping music. He’d been oblivious to the drama in his boss’s office. Hadn’t heard or seen a thing.

Reaching the motorbike, John picked up Kat’s helmet and passed it to her. Her hands shook as she took it and he paused to examine her face.

Even in the dim light, he could see she was still ridiculously pale, and her eyes were still wide, like a rabbit caught in headlights. Her pretty, full mouth was set in a straight line and devoid of expression.

“Hey,” he said softly and took a step closer. “Carlos can’t hurt you now. I’ve sorted him.”

She looked up at his face but didn’t change her vacant expression. John wondered if she was in shock. She always acted like such a little hard nut, pretended to handle anything. But he knew she wasn’t really tough. Not deep down. She’d shown him over the last few days that at her core she was a lost little girl, alone in the world and fighting for survival.

He cupped her jaw with both hands and looked into her eyes. “Relax, Pussy Cat. I’m here to look after you.” He searched her face to make sure she was registering what he was saying. “I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise.” Then he added with a half smile, “But don’t go running off like that again. Just because you can get your slinky body through small gaps doesn’t mean you have to.”

 

* * * *

 

Kat stared up at him. She believed John would look after her. After all, he’d just rescued her from a hideous attack and quite possibly saved her life. But what she couldn’t stop thinking about was how she’d nearly gotten him killed. Because of her foolish stunt, Carlos had swung the gun from her head to John’s chest. She’d truly believed at any second John would be shot. His chest blown apart and lung tissue spread across the office wall.

“He was about to kill you,” she whispered.

“Yeah, he was. But he didn’t. So don’t think about it anymore. It’s over with Carlos. Forever, you hear me? Forever. You’ll never see him again.”

Kat nodded. He was right. She could never go back to working for Carlos now. Their business arrangement was over. That thought was a huge relief. The end of her lucrative, yet questionable career had finally arrived. But it would be alright, especially with her share of the diamonds. They would keep her going for years. She pulled cool air deep into her chest and tried to fix her thoughts back together.

“You know something? John said, still holding her face in his hands and gazing at her intently.

“What?” She locked her eyes with his.

 “When I said Carlos had something of mine, I wasn’t just talking about the car or the diamonds.”

Kat looked into his earnest face. What he’d just said had touched a nerve.

How does he keep doing that?

But she wasn’t complaining; she liked it. She liked being his, and it hadn’t been said in a jealous, possessive way, simply stated as a fact, like they were a team. Locked together and performing a secret task. Kat and John against the world.

She stood on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his.

He coiled his hands around her waist and pulled her closer, delved his tongue into her mouth. She groaned at the maleness of his taste and the hardness of his body pressing into hers. It felt so good, so right, so perfect after Carlos’s disgusting gropes and soft, fleshy stomach.

He pulled back a fraction. “Are you okay?”

“Yes.”

“You know, physically? Did the sick son of a bitch hurt you? I got there in time, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did, and no, he didn’t hurt me. I just feel a bit shaky.”

“Sit,” he said, glancing around. “There.” He pointed through the darkness at a low wall in the shadows behind the skip. He steered her over, taking the helmet from her hands.

Kat sat, thankful to relieve her legs of the job of standing upright.

“Let me see.” John stood above her and undid the zip of her jacket.

The chill air hit her flesh.

“It’s too dark to see anything,” he whispered. “Are you sore?” Tenderly, he rubbed his palm over the top swell of her right breast which hung unsupported.

“It’s okay, I think, but he’s ripped my dress, my favourite hit dress.”

“You don’t need a hit dress, any more,” he said firmly.

“Oh, yes, I forgot.”

He moved his hand to her other exposed breast. His fingertips wandered carefully over her flesh. “This one okay?” His voice was suddenly husky, the way she’d noticed it became when he was thinking of sex. Her breath caught. Surely not here, not now? The image filled her with heady excitement. It was so seedy, so dirty, so silent and murky behind the filthy skip.

“Maybe a little tender here.” She reached for his hand and directed it onto her erect nipple.

“Just here?” He lowered his head and followed where his fingers had brushed with his tongue. “I guess I’ll have to kiss all the sore spots better then.” He pulled her nipple gently onto the roll of his tongue.

“Mmm.”

“And this one?” His fingers swept over her other breast, taking in the nipple and supporting the underside with his palm. “Does it need kissing better?”

“Yes, it needs your kisses, needs you. I need…” Her words trailed off as she pressed her hands on his hair and pushed her chest out for his attention. She let out a low groan as memories of Carlos touching her were brushed away and replaced with desire for John.

“I’ll tell you what I need,” his voice was suddenly urgent. “I need to get my cock between these.” He stood upright and reached for his zipper. “If I don’t, I’m gonna burst, baby.”

Kat looked up at him through the darkness. Excitement raced through her veins, and even more adrenaline was released into her system. Maybe it was the fright she’d just had, maybe it was the way he’d risked himself to protect her. Whatever it was, she was flying on something and needed a release. She wanted to connect with John and explode.

Prove we both survived.

She reached out to help him, but he’d already freed his erection. The sight of it, huge and demanding, outlined against his dark leathers made her pussy melt. He was so gorgeous, so perfect.

“Like this,” he said, gently palming the outer orbs of her breasts. “Hold like this and let me bury myself in your cleavage.”

Kat took over his hand positions, felt the hot weight of her breasts as she moulded them to form a deep channel. John stood straight, and her face was suddenly level with his leather-clad abdomen, the wall the perfect height.

He took his cock in one hand, held her shoulder with the other and pushed his hips forward. “You okay to do this?” he whispered.

 “Yes.” She tipped her head down and swept her tongue over the slit of his protruding cock. “More than okay.”

“Ah, jeez.” He groaned, smoothing a hand over her hair. “Every part of you feel’s so good.” She treated him to another swirl of her tongue as he pushed his length through her breasts and up towards her chin. “You’re amazing. I should go back and kill Carlos for even looking at you.”

She pressed her knees against his legs to keep him exactly where he was. “No,” she said as he bobbed low, ready for another long slide up her cleavage. “Stay right where you are. It’s making me feel so much better.”

He moaned then released a jagged grunt as she squeezed her breasts even tighter around his straining erection. She could feel his outer skin moving and shifting over the solid, steel interior of his cock, her breasts tugging at his tiny bit of slack and working it like a hand or a pussy or a mouth would.

He pressed his palm over her right hand. She wriggled free, letting him support her breast whilst she shoved her hand down between her own legs. She was so turned on. So damn ready to come it would be dynamite with all those endorphins blasting her system.

She didn’t bother to undo her trousers, just pushed two fingers past the waistband, under her knickers elastic to her clit.

“I’m gonna…” John gasped with a sudden desperation in his voice.

“Give me a few seconds,” she said, as she grabbed that waiting spark. “I’ll join you.”

“We haven’t time for slow and indulgent.”

“I know, just…” Kat fed her greed with vigorous, urgent movements, her deft fingertips giving pressure where she needed it. Her calf muscles tensed, and her toes lifted off the grimy pavement. She tipped forward, rocking harder onto her clit.

“Oh, you’re so fucking sweet how you do yourself,” John groaned. “One of these days I’m gonna sit back and watch you as I sip on a whisky.”

She licked the rim of his cock as it popped within reach.

“Oh, yes, fuck yes, do that again.” He pulled down and shot up fast into her waiting mouth. She sucked him in and licked with the tensed tip of her tongue. He took over holding her chest and she found his balls and worked them into a rolling frenzy the same way she was rolling herself.

She let her middle finger slide towards his anus, stroking the thin ridge of skin on his perineum and tickling over the clenched hole the way he had hers. She found the very centre and pressed gently, seeing if he would let her in, checking for give in the furrowed band of muscle. There was some, not much, but she found a tiny bit of slack and let the tip of her finger sink into the waiting black heat.

“Oh…fuck…” his voice was strangled, “you filthy little minx…” Semen spurted up towards her mouth, splashed onto her chin and chest in hot milky jets. His balls retracted from her palm, and she pushed her probing finger even higher, curled it forward and pressed on his smooth inside wall.

“Mine…” he grunted with a final thrust and releasing her tits to brace her shoulders. “Fuck it. You’re mine.”

Kat pulled her finger from his tight butt, and he froze in the darkness like a marble statue.

It was the way he’d said ‘mine’ at the exact moment she’d found a secret place inside him that tipped Kat over the edge. Her hand, arm and shoulder jerked against his body motionless body she powered through her intense finale. Her fingers flew across her clit, over and over. She panted, gasped, let her knees drop open. “Oh, God,” she said, loving the feeling of absolute control she always got when she pleasured herself.

Then her face was caught between his hands, and he was bending over her, supplying her with crazy, hot kisses. His tongue plunging into her and absorbing her wail of satisfaction as the crest of her wave crashed down spectacularly.

It was good to be alive.

It was good to be alive with John.