‘You fucking prick!’ Andrew roared, his eyes flashing. He didn’t think he could get any more livid than finding out Gary had lost the entire second payment of the Irish cash. That was until he’d heard what one of the runners had to say.
Sitting despondently at the desk, Gary rested his throbbing head in his hands. He knew he’d fucked up and fucked up royally. This was the last thing he needed, what with all the shit that was already flying around. ‘Give me a break,’ he snapped. ‘Do you not think I’ve already had all this from Seb?’
‘But he doesn’t know the latest yet!’ Andrew roared. ‘What’s going on, Gary?’
Gary looked up wearily. ‘Look, I still feel like total shit. I’ve only just got out of hospital. I shouldn’t even be here, yet you’re going on and on – talking in riddles.’
Andrew launched himself from the other side of the room and grabbed Gary around the throat. ‘You sarcastic shit, with a bunch of poxy excuses! I’ll…’
‘What the hell is this?’ Seb entered his office, seeing Andrew poised to smash his fist into Gary’s face.
‘Ask him!’ Andrew hissed, reluctantly dropping his grip from around Gary’s throat.
Gary rubbed at his neck. ‘He’s pissed off about the money. I’ve already said I’m sorry, but I’ve no idea what his problem is with everything else.’
And when his head was feeling less mangled, he’d take the first opportunity to put things right. He didn’t know how or with what as yet, but whatever happened it would be something that would show his brothers that he was just as competent as them. Never again would there be any gum-flapping about him not being a true Stoker.
Seb glared from Gary to Andrew. ‘Do you want to enlighten me with what you’re referring to?’
‘I’ve just been informed that he,’ Andrew prodded his finger sharply into the side of Gary’s head, ‘spent the evening getting pissed with Maynard.’
Seb’s eyes flashed. ‘Maynard?’
Gary looked up, his eyes panicked. ‘What? I didn’t!’ The memory of the evening at the Hare and Hounds was a little fuzzy, but he’d had nothing to do with Maynard! ‘A bloke sat down next to me and we chatted, that’s all. I think he said his name was Rob…’
‘You think?’ Neil yelled. ‘Do you think at all, Gary? For God’s sake, a runner saw you! That man you were sitting with was Maynard.’
Gary stared at Seb, Neil and Andrew. Had that bloke been Maynard? He didn’t actually know what the man looked like.
Seb’s eyes narrowed. ‘What did you say to him, Gary? I need to know everything.’
‘I can’t remember,’ Gary mumbled, feeling sicker by the second. ‘I was pissed. I didn’t say much.’ But he had, hadn’t he? He’d been moaning. Moaning about them – his brothers, and the whole set-up. Exactly what he’d said though, he didn’t know. Shit, shit, SHIT.
‘Hold on a fucking minute!’ Neil yelled, squaring up to Seb. ‘Wasn’t the jump a bit convenient to have happened after Gary has been secretly meeting up for drinks and chit-chat with our friend?’
Seb’s green eyes flashed with menace. ‘Exactly! I bet you any money Maynard is behind this. He set up the jump.’ He paced around the office, anger flooding his veins. His mind churned over the situations that could possibly be derived from this. But then, if his stupid-arsed brother didn’t know what he’d even said to the man, how long was a piece of string?
A muscle in Seb’s neck twitched relentlessly. ‘Christ, something else to deal with.’ He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth in utter frustration. ‘Have you not heard about that blaze at the Gun Barrels last night?’ He glanced at Neil and Andrew, who shrugged dismissively, their wrath still centred on Gary. ‘If we’re not careful we’ll be implicated with other stuff, too – stuff that needs sorting out. I need that Phil bloke brought to me again, but not here. Andrew? Can you sort that? ASAP?’
Seb stared at Andrew, seeing him still chomping at the bit, and knew he had to deal with this situation first. Jaw clenched, he swung around, pointing at Gary, his frustration at breaking point. ‘And you! You fucking imbecile. What were you thinking? You moan and bleat like an old fucking woman, so God only knows what shit you’ve spouted about us.’
Gary turned to Seb wide-eyed. ‘I wasn’t meeting up with Maynard! I swear! I didn’t even know wh…’
‘I’ll have to speak to Sam Reynold about this.’ Seb raked his fingers through his thick hair. ‘Maynard’s a liability and there’s no way I’m having that sidling piece of shit causing issues. Sam needs to know what her cunt of a cousin is up to.’
‘Oh, listen to this,’ Neil raged, poking Seb squarely in the chest. ‘You’re going to run to that conniving little bitch and tell her that we’re on to them? Half of this is your fault. Let’s not ignore that all of this shit also corresponds to you spending the evening holed up with the Reynold girl…’
Swinging around to face Andrew, Neil raised his arms theatrically. ‘Isn’t that a strange coincidence? Fancy that! You know, how Maynard just happened to know what was going on with our deal… Between them, Gary and Seb have ensured these people know everything.’
Seb’s temper flared further. ‘Hold it right there! I’ve said fuck all to Samantha about anyth…’
‘Ah! Samantha, now is it? How cosy,’ Andrew spat. ‘You’ve got a point, Neil. Our Sebastian’s too busy dipping his wick with that tart to notice the gen she’s squeezing out of him whilst her hand’s around his dick!’
Fury exploded within Seb for reasons he couldn’t quite pinpoint. ‘Sam Reynold is not a tart, she’s…’
‘Between you and dickhead here,’ Andrew jerked his head in Gary’s direction, ‘you’re selling us out to the Reynolds. For fuck’s sake, Seb! Surely she can’t be that good in the sack?’
Seb launched at his brother, grabbing him around the throat. ‘How dare you accuse me of betraying this family! This firm is what matters to me and always has. You’d do well to remember that I’m in charge here, not you!’
Wrenching Seb’s iron-like grip away from his throat, Andrew laughed. ‘Are you stupid? It’s all a plan! Maynard is that tart’s right-hand man. She knows what’s going on and that dumb act of hers is to reel you in.’ He shook his head. ‘Can’t you see what she’s doing? And he wo…’
‘Stop calling her a tart! I’ve already told you once. If you weren’t my brother, I’d give you the fucking kicking of your life,’ Seb snarled, pushing himself into Andrew’s face.
‘What about him then?’ Neil roared, pointing back to Gary. ‘We all know he isn’t our brother and half the city does too, by the sounds of it.’ He stared at Gary, hatred burning brightly. ‘You’re probably related to Maynard and that bitch, hence why you’ve been feeding them all of our info.’
‘What?’ Gary screamed, jumping to his feet.
‘I’ll happily give him a kicking!’ Andrew scrambled across the desk to reach Gary. ‘Concussion will be a bonus once I’ve finished.’
‘Stop this right now!’ Seb roared, pulling Andrew back over the desk and smashing his fist squarely into his nose.
Blood spurting from his nostrils, Andrew launched himself back at Seb, his fist connecting with a satisfying crunch.
‘What in God’s name is going on?’ Mal shouted, pushing open the office door so hard, it slammed into the wall.
As his four sons froze, Seb and Andrew’s fists still raised and Neil’s hand around Gary’s throat, Mal shook his head in a combination of fury and disappointment. He eyed each one of them in turn. ‘I come to the club for the first time since I got out of hospital to see how you’re getting on and I find this?’
Tom thought driving all the way out to Northfield purely to meet Maynard was a bit excessive and, as well as that, he wanted to avoid bumping into anyone. Like Ted Matthews. Or worse, Linda.
He hadn’t been down this neck of the woods since the day he’d left and had planned on keeping it that way.
Shoving his way through the heavy traffic on the Bristol Road, he was glad to pull into the front car park of the black and white timbered pub.
Avoiding sinking his front tyre into one of the many large potholes, Tom scowled. He could do without bodging up the suspension of this motor having only just bought it. Okay, it wasn’t like he’d spent thousands – five hundred quid to be precise – but that was still five hundred quid he could do without losing, especially as he’d forked out all of that brass for Lee and Steve. But at least they’d done what he’d asked.
A wide smile replaced Tom’s scowl. Oh, he knew they’d done it. They’d reported back to him quick smart – obviously to pick up the cash, but fair’s fair, they’d done a cracking job.
And to get the clarification from today’s paper that the Gun Barrels was fucked, and with it Dave, was perfect news. The fact that the divot motormouth, Mick, had copped it too was a bloody bonus. Plus, the report was that all investigations were pointing towards an electrical fire, which couldn’t be better.
Tom rubbed his hands together as he strode across the car park. Yep, the boys had done an excellent job. Removing that old slapper was done and dusted as well. Another missing person never to be found.
The only fly in the ointment was having to deal with Maynard. Still, best get on with it.
Pulling open the side door of the Oak Apple, Tom winced at the stench of stale beer and ignored the fact that his feet stuck to the carpet.
He spotted John Maynard straight away, sitting underneath one of the large draughty windows. Walking over, Tom nodded towards the flat-looking spare pint on the table. ‘That for me?’
‘Evening, Tom,’ John muttered sarcastically. ‘Yes, that’s yours.’ He nodded at the stool opposite. ‘I haven’t got much time, so sit down and let’s get straight on with it.’
Tom sat down, gratefully swigging at his pint. He was choking for a drink so badly that even the strong taste of line cleaner didn’t put him off. He pulled his cigarettes from his pocket and tried his best not to look too self-satisfied with the recent outcome. ‘Presume you’ve seen the papers? All done, dusted and perfectly executed, as promised,’ he winked. ‘How’s it going from your side?’
‘Yes, I saw the papers,’ John said. He wouldn’t give this muppet any inkling he was impressed the job had pulled off so well. He didn’t want to give the twat any kudos. ‘And everything’s good from my side.’ He wasn’t going into specific details about anything with this piece of shit either. All Bedworth needed to know was that things were on track.
He wouldn’t mention a dicky-bird about Gary Stoker being jumped and the nice wedge he’d pocketed. Even after paying the boys, he still had 11k in his back pocket and Tom would insist on a cut if he knew about it. And he’d rather drink bleach than give this tosser any more readies than necessary.
John grimaced at the spittle hanging from the side of Tom’s mouth. ‘As I said, things are on track and there will be plenty of ructions soon, believe me.’
‘Good, good,’ Tom said, his jaw clenching rhythmically.
John studied Tom suspiciously, noticing the man’s pinhole pupils. ‘You on gear?’
‘Gear?’ Tom continued slurping at his pint. ‘No. Well, occasionally. Only for testing purposes, though,’ he lied.
John’s mouth flattened. He could do without Bedworth being coked up. Silly mistakes could be made and the man was pointless enough as it was. ‘I want to check you fully understand there are to be no deviations from the plan.’
‘The plan?’ Tom frowned, his concentration diverted to a game of darts over the far side of the room.
‘Yeah, the plan – the one we discussed the other night?’ John followed Tom’s eyes. ‘Fucking concentrate, will you?’
‘Oh yeah, the plan. Yeah, sure. Why would anything have changed?’
‘Just nailing home the point.’ John knew all about how Bedworth loved to add bits to previously agreed arrangements and they both knew how that had turned out…
He scowled. He wouldn’t have ever had anything to do with the fucking idiot in the first place had there been another way around it. That first screw-up was down to Bedworth too, which they’d both paid for big time and it was not something he’d risk again. ‘You grasp the Reynolds must be left out of this? At least until you hear otherwise. All efforts are to be concentrated on the Stokers for the time being.’ John ground his cigarette out in the ashtray. ‘After what happened to Reynold, you need to stay well clear.’
Tom sighed. ‘Yes, I know. You said that the other night.’ But what Maynard didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. There was no way he’d ditch the chance of double money just because it might make things awkward for Maynard. ‘There’s no link between me and the car thing anyway, otherwise they’d have pulled me in by now.’
John nodded. ‘That’s as maybe, but you need to trust me on this.’
Tom flapped his hand. ‘Yeah, yeah. No worries, I hear you.’ He nodded to the bar. ‘You shouting another one up?’
‘I can’t hang around. I’ve got a drop to make.’ John’s elbow brushed against the fat envelope in his inside pocket. ‘I’ve also got to see Gloria tomorrow morning to finalise last minute arrangements for Reynold’s funeral.’ It was bad enough pretending to be nice to Samantha without sorting out fucking hymns and eulogies. Christ, the whole thing made his head hurt.
‘When is that happening?’ Tom asked casually, secretly wanting to tell Maynard what a tight bastard he was. He could at least buy him another pint.
‘The funeral is in three days,’ John muttered. ‘Bloody thousands will be there, including the Stoker bunch and everyone who’s anyone.’
‘Hmm,’ Tom shrugged. And it would be the perfect opening for his next move – the one he wouldn’t mention. It was also tempting to go along himself and get a glimpse of his kid, but that would be downright stupid. Besides, there was plenty of time for that.
‘You’ve got to be kidding?’ Sam muttered, wrapping a towel in a turban around her wet hair. This was the final straw.
As her apartment intercom continued to buzz relentlessly, Sam dried her face on another towel and quickly pulled her dressing gown around her.
She’d had a dreadful day. As well as being made aware of Seb’s attempts to set her up, there was now the added confusion over John.
The meeting this afternoon had gone down like a lead balloon too. Oh, she’d seen the scorn behind the eyes of virtually every single man in there. John had ended up chairing the rest of the meeting after she’d become flustered with the barrage of questions fired at her. It had been so embarrassing.
Sam glanced at her reflection in the steamed-up mirror, sure she’d aged ten years during the last week. She’d made such a pig’s ear of things and was angry with herself for not handling things – everything – better. It seemed every possible decision she’d made since taking over had been the wrong one. And everyone knew it.
The intercom buzzing stopped, replaced with banging on her front door. What the hell was the point of security if people could just wander into the apartment block? Liam had no right to invade her space like this. His friendship was really testing the boundaries.
‘I’m coming, for God’s sake,’ Sam hissed, padding along the hallway in bare feet. She yanked open the door. ‘Liam, you really… Oh!’
Seb Stoker pushed past Sam into the hallway. ‘I need to speak to you about Maynard.’
Momentarily taken aback, Sam closed the door, her surprise fast turning to annoyance. ‘Mr Stoker, I…’
‘Fuck this “Mr Stoker” shit, Samantha,’ Seb barked, noticing for the first time that the woman whose home he’d just barged into was standing in a dressing gown with dripping wet hair. ‘And who the fuck is Liam?’
‘That’s none of your business,’ Sam snapped, following Seb as he marched down the hallway into her lounge like he owned the place. ‘How did you know where I lived?’
‘If you remember, you gave me your business card last night. Rule one – don’t put a home address on it if you want your personal life to be a secret,’ Seb said coldly. He hadn’t time for game-playing. Sam could get as snotty as she liked, but he needed to know if his brothers were right and that it was him who had been played.
His eyes ran over Sam as she stared at him suspiciously. Was she in on this with Maynard? Well, he would see. As much as he’d previously reached the conclusion he would help her, if he’d been wrong in his assessment and she was playing shit like that, then he’d take her down too.
Feeling Seb’s penetrating gaze burning into her through the fluffy white towelling robe, Sam shivered, feeling naked and exposed from the scrutiny. ‘What is it you want, Seb?’ she said frostily, overriding the disturbing sense of exhilaration at the imagined exposure. ‘I’m kind of busy.’
‘Busy?’ Seb yelled. ‘Swanning around in a fucking toga and lying in a bath or whatever, is busy is it? You should be concentrating on your firm! You know, the one I’ve been trying to help you with!’
‘How dare you storm into my house and tell me what I’m supposed to be doing or not doing!’ Sam countered. ‘Are you going to get to the point?’
Seb perched on the arm of Sam’s sofa and held her stare. ‘How about you begin by telling me where Maynard was last night?’
Sam’s gaze was drawn to the patch of dark hair under the two undone buttons of Seb’s usually pristine white shirt. Her heart thundered wildly, questioning not for the first time how someone she did not particularly even like could engender raw attraction in every single one of her senses.
She forced her eyes to meet his and it was only then she noticed the darkening swelling around his left eye. ‘What’s happened to your face?’ She found a small smile creeping onto her lips. ‘Aren’t you a bit old to get into playground scraps?’
Self-consciously raising his fingers to his fast blackening eye, Seb’s jaw clenched. Playground scraps? The cheeky bitch. It was down to her that he and his brothers were at each other’s throats and, thanks to wonderful timing, his father was now doubting his ability to run the family firm.
Anger seeped from his pores; anger at Gary’s stupidity; anger for Neil and Andrew questioning his judgement; anger for his father’s waning trust and anger with himself. Despite feasible justification making him suspect the woman in front of him could well be in with Maynard and a plan to sell the Stoker firm up the river, he was loath to believe it. Something wouldn’t let him assume this woman was part of anything Maynard was up to.
He’d seen something in her last night – a determination; base honesty of her situation, yet a resolve to deal with whatever had been foisted on her plate. And he’d liked that. Liked it a lot. Liked it almost as much as what he was looking at right now…
His eyes fell onto Sam’s cleavage, visible in the dressing gown, and watched a droplet of water run from under the towel turban, making a watery track between her breasts.
The need to trace his tongue along the route the water made caused a familiar twitch in his groin, and Seb hastily reminded himself why he was here. ‘I asked you where Maynard was last night.’
Sam folded her arms, self-consciously pulling her robe tighter around her. ‘At the Orchid, I presume? In case you have forgotten, I was with you at the Royal Peacock last night.’
‘I haven’t forgotten, Sam. I haven’t forgotten at all.’ Seb’s face was hard, a nerve twitching under his eye as he fought to regain control of his senses – at complete conflict with his internal fury.
Getting up, he stormed over to the cabinet and snatched up a bottle of brandy. ‘Thank fuck for that! I thought you might only have Cinzano or Advocaat!’ He turned back to Sam. ‘In fact, if I remember rightly, I spent a long time painstakingly explaining to you how things work. Like easing myself into a frightened virgin.’
Sam’s cheeks coloured with his analogy, along with the sudden image in her mind’s eye of how this man would behave between the sheets. She would do herself a favour remembering what John had said. Seb classed ‘helping’ her as giving her false information to make her seem a fool.
‘You presume a lot of things!’ she said curtly.
Seb downed half a glass of brandy, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘I presume nothing. Maynard has turned my firm over,’ he said. ‘I’m left trying to deduce whether, like the rest of my family believes, you’re part of that or not. That’s why I’m here.’
Sam rolled her eyes. ‘I don’t believe this! You’re accusing me of being against you in some ridiculous association with John Maynard?’
‘It’s hardly a stupid accusation,’ Seb spat. ‘I’m ninety-nine per cent sure Maynard is behind what happened. Think about it – he was drinking with my brother last night, who then gets jumped. Whoever jumped him pocketed a large amount of my money. Meanwhile, I was conveniently out of the way…’
Sam’s eyes narrowed. ‘And so that means I concocted it? That’s ludicrous. You know that isn’t the case.’
Seb moved closer to Sam, wanting to pull the towel off her head to see her wet hair dripping down her, then licking it off her bare skin. ‘As I said previously, I presume nothing. You may have made yourself out to be green where the business is concerned to set me up, enabling you and Maynard to lift the money from my deal.’
‘Oh, you mean, the money from the Irish deal? One of the many you’ve arranged on our joint territories, knowing my father wanted nothing to do with them. Yes, I know all about those.’
Seb smirked, placing his finger against his mouth thoughtfully. ‘But your father isn’t here and, considering you allegedly know nothing, it’s strange how you know about the Irish and where the deals take place, isn’t it?’
Sam’s anger grew. ‘I will honour my father’s decision and won’t allow deals with the Irish on any of my patches, shared or not.’
Seb laughed, his green eyes sparkling. ‘Allow it? But you didn’t even know about it. Allegedly…’
Sam snatched the bottle of brandy from Seb’s hand and poured herself one. ‘You say I’m the one playing games, when you purposefully gave me wrong information to make me look a fool?’
Now it was Seb’s turn to be surprised. ‘What?’
Sam squared up to Seb, pointing her finger into his face. ‘Don’t pretend you don’t know. The territories? The map?’
A sarcastic smile suddenly spread across Seb’s face. ‘Ah, I see. Nice try, sweetheart, but no cigar.’ He grabbed Sam’s hand, pulling it from his face and holding it down against her hip. ‘Don’t bother with deflection tactics. Maynard has turned me over. He’s taking the piss and when I prove that, I’m going to have him.’
He moved closer, his mouth inches away from Sam’s. ‘And if I find out you’re involved, then you will also be paying for that.’
Sam’s breath hitched, Seb’s proximity and threat both aggravating and intoxicating; the combined scent of aftershave, anger and pure male, heady and overpowering. She pulled her concentration back into line. ‘How dare you threaten me! Get out!’
Seb dropped his grasp of Sam’s hand but held her eye contact. Slowly walking away, he reached the hallway before stopping. ‘I’ve told you before Samantha, Maynard is not on your side. And for reasons unbeknown to me, I don’t believe you’re involved with whatever his plans are. If you ever work out that he’s your enemy and if he’s still breathing by then, come and see me. I might still deem you worth helping. Until that point, you’re on your fucking own.’
It was only when the apartment door slammed, signifying Seb’s departure, that Sam sank into the sofa and start to sob from a mixture of fear, disappointment, anger and the worst one of all – pure and abject lust.