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Davy stumbled out of the tunnelled archway entrance. Declan pushed him with one hand. The other held a handgun to Davy’s head. Davy’s wide eyes streamed tears and his lips trembled.
“I’m sorry, Martin.” Sobs wrenched through Davy’s words.
Martin grabbed the rifle and stood, ignoring burning muscles and searing wounds.
“Dinnae be the stupid eejit slave ye are, Moffatt.” Hatred wrapped around every word from Declan. Behind him Sean followed, a smug grin filled his face and his hands jiggled the handgun and walkie-talkie he carried.
“I’m serious. I’ll shoot this podge if ye dinnae put the rifle doon!” Declan shook Davy vigorously and pressed the handgun harder into his skull. Davy flinched and a fear-filled gasp escaped his mouth.
Martin lowered the rifle to the ground. His hands shook. Trembling had begun in his arms and was making its way to his core. Shona grabbed his hand, hers shaking too.
“Git them.” Declan nodded in their direction.
Sean strode behind them, clipping the walkie-talkie into his belt, and pushed them both to the ground.
“Aw, isn’t that sweet. The slaves are holding hands.” Sean’s sarcasm sounded behind them as he forced Shona onto her knees. She grunted.
“Separate them!” Declan yelled then forced Davy to a kneeling position six feet directly in front of them, facing side-on.
Sean ripped Martin’s hand from Shona’s and pushed him onto his knees. He cocked his handgun at Shona’s head and grabbed a handful of Martin’s hair. Martin’s heart thundered as he glanced sideways to Shona. Her breath came in short gasps, then her lips clamped together, and she breathed loudly through her nose. She returned his stare.
“Now, you lot are causing me a wee bitty too much trouble,” Declan growled. “I’m thinkin’ the flack I’m going tae git from ma boss is worth puttin’ up with, jist tae be rid of yoo trouble-makers. The only one o’ ye possibly worth anything is the poncy rich-kid.” His glare bored into Martin. “For Daddy may just come through with the goods.” His fingers flickered around the grip of the handgun he pressed into the back of Davy’s head. “So, I’ve had enough o’ this.”
Declan’s fingers tapped the handgun’s stock panel as his features hardened.
The shot echoed off the ruins of Ravenscraig Castle. Martin flinched as the bullet’s sound cracked the air.
Shit!
Shona shrieked beside him. Alarmed birdcalls rang from the nearby trees and seagulls on the beach beneath them screeched their startled cries. Davy slumped forward, his face disintegrated by the bullet’s exit, and landed front down on the soft green grass.
Then numbness hit Martin. The trembling threatened to take over him. He started breathing again, his heart’s thundering continued. He turned to Shona. She was of no value to Declan. Her cheeks streamed with tears. Her face grew paler in the early dawn light.
“You’ll get into deep shit with Lloyd over this,” Martin spat at Declan.
Declan screwed up his face. “Maybe I will. But I dinnae care.” He stepped around Davy’s body to stand in front of Shona. “Ma only regret is that I cannae get rid o’ you sae easily, slave,” he said to Martin then pointed the handgun to Shona’s head, pressing it in the centre of her brow.
Her forehead crinkled in pain; her mouth trembled as she tried to clamp it shut.
“No, don’t!” Martin shouted at Declan and tried to stand. The thundering of his heart now reached his temples.
Sean’s hand pulled tighter on the clump of Martin’s long hair, burning his scalp where the roots tugged, and held him back in a kneeling position. The cold of the nozzle of Sean’s handgun pressed into his neck.
“Keep still.” Sean wrenched his head back. “Enjoy the show.”
Declan’s fingers flickered around the handgun’s grip as he pressed it into Shona’s forehead.
Static sounded from the walkie-talkie at Sean’s belt.
“Boss wants to know where ya are. Over.”
“Shite! Git that,” Declan screamed at Sean.
Sean released his tight grasp on Martin’s hair and unclipped the walkie-talkie from his belt. “Kirkcaldy. Over.”
“‘Ave you got ‘em?” It was Cockney.
Sean paused. Declan glared at him.
“Aye. Over.”
“Bring ‘em back. Mr Moffatt’s come up with the money. Boss wants you back now. Moffatt won’t ‘and anything over ‘till ‘e knows ‘is son’s alive and well. Over.”
Static hissed behind Martin while Declan’s brows drew together.
“What do I tell ‘em?” Sean asked.
“Don’t kill her. My father’ll pay for her too.” Martin forced all the conviction he could into his voice. “Surely your boss will reward you for a job well done and you’ll get a cut.”
Declan’s mouth became a thin line. He pulled the handgun away from Shona.
“Give me that!” He snatched the walkie-talkie out of Sean’s hand.
“Tell Lloyd the slave’s negotiatin’ for the girl. Over.” Declan spoke into the walkie-talkie.
“What? Over.”
“Check with Lloyd if Moffatt will pay for the girl too. At his son’s request, like. Over.”
Static hissed for a few moments.
Sweat drenched Martin’s back. Shona’s chest heaved rapidly. She fixed her eyes on him, gratitude tinged her frightened expression. A question hung in the air between them.
What if his father didn’t have enough?
The static burst through again.
“Moffatt’s willin’ ta pay. You’re to bring ‘em ‘ere unharmed. Over.”
“Aye. Over.” Resentment laced Declan’s reply, then he threw the walkie-talkie back to Sean.
“Get up,” Declan snarled at Martin. “Ye’ve had a reprieve.” He directed his venom at Shona.
Sean dragged them to their feet and marched them toward the castle’s exit.
“What about...Davy?” Martin twisted behind to Davy’s slumped body. It was motionless and staining the grass a deep red.
“Leave it!” Declan forced Martin’s head around as he dragged Shona along.
“You can’t leave him like that!”
“Aye, I can and I am. Shut it.”
The van was in the park’s grounds, a five-minute walk away. That’s why Davy hadn’t heard anything. Poor Davy. Martin took in a shuddering breath. Shona had nearly ended up the same. He glanced over at her. She was pale and shaking as she stumbled along in Declan’s grasp. Dried tears left streak marks on her face. She could still end up dead.
They weren’t out of this yet.