Taken. Jacqui RoseЧитать онлайн книгу.
chasing some toerag, and if he did, Alfie would have him to answer to; he took his godfathering duties very seriously. Vaughn pulled out his mobile as he followed the star-crossed lovers across Shaftesbury Avenue.
‘Alf, it’s Vaughn.’
Alfie slammed the phone down. He was just about to go on stage and do his set when he’d taken the call from Vaughn informing him that not only was Emmie in London without his permission, but she was chasing some guy like a bitch on heat.
If it’d been anyone else phoning to tell him, Alfie doubted he would’ve believed it, but Vaughn was Emmie’s godfather. If he said it was Emmie, then make no bones about it, it was Emmie.
He attempted to get through to Janine to see what the fuck she was doing letting Emmie out, but it went straight to voicemail. He was grateful his wife wasn’t standing in front of him right now, as the promise he’d made to himself to never raise a fist to her might have been sorely tested.
‘Tell Oscar to wait for me, I’ve got some personal business to attend to.’ Alfie barked the order at his cousin, who was leaning back on a chair, drinking a bottle of Becks at the back of the busy club.
As Alfie raced past the bar, situated by the entrance of the club, he caught sight of one of the new bar staff who’d been giving him the eye earlier in the week. He’d planned to take her back to his place but now instead of feeling lips round his dick, he was going to have to go and find Emmie and deal with the fool who thought it was okay to date Alfie Jennings’s daughter.
Knocking several customers into the wall by the cloakroom, Archie marched out into the cold of the Soho night, ready to put brains on walls.
‘They’re in there.’ Vaughn looked at Alfie sympathetically, thankful he’d only himself to worry about rather than an unruly daughter. He could see the beads of sweat under Alfie’s thick fringe of black hair on his forehead.
‘You want me to come with you, Alf? Maybe I could stop the situation becoming too heated. Go easy on her and him. You know what kids are like.’
Alfie just looked at Vaughn; he didn’t want to use any more energy than he had to.
The stairs leading up to the flat looked like they were never swept. Alfie could hear a baby crying from another landing and the sound of televisions coming from the various flats. It was a shithole and a perfect place to do what he was about to do.
‘It’s that one. I watched them go in.’
Vaughn pointed at the door and then proceeded to grab hold of Alfie’s arm, feeling the tension in it.
‘Alf, remember what I said. Keep your head, pal.’
Alfie didn’t bother answering or knocking; he raised his right foot and kicked hard, using the momentum of the kick to put enough force behind it to boot the door open first time.
‘What the …’ Jake bellowed as he walked into the hall, clad only in a pair of off-white boxer shorts, ready to confront the intruder, but he was met by a fist slamming into his face, knocking his front teeth out before he managed to finish his sentence.
Jake’s blood sprayed over the damp walls of the hallway as he was sent sprawling across the floor by the punch. As Alfie raised his foot above the boy’s head ready to bring it down, he recognised who it was; Jake Bellingham, one of his employees, who he’d thought he could trust, had been trying to bang his daughter. The realisation made Alfie bring his foot down hard as he ignored Jake’s pig-like squeals.
Alfie looked up quickly as he heard a scream directly in front of him. It was Emmie.
‘Daddy no! Don’t! It was my fault. Daddy, please leave him alone!’
Alfie stared at his daughter, noticing she was in her bra, though thankfully she still had her trousers on – unless of course they’d already … Alfie stopped his thoughts. It was too much to contemplate, so instead of picturing what might have happened to his precious daughter, he dug his heel deeper into Jake’s face, twisting it into his nose; shattering the bones and making it bubble with blood.
‘Go and put some clothes on, Emmie. Now.’
As she ran back to the front room to get dressed, Vaughn looked at Emmie but turned his head quickly. He didn’t like to think of her with the pitiful piece of scum squirming on the floor; she was far too good for that.
‘Take her to the club for me, Vaughn. I’ve still got a few things to do here.’
‘Leave it now Alf. You’ve made your point.’
As Vaughn led the hysterical Emmie out of the flat, he grimaced as he saw Alfie take a pair of pliers out of his pocket.
Vaughn squeezed Emmie hard to him; all this violence wasn’t good for her to see. He’d have a word in Alfie’s ear when he’d calmed down.
As much as Vaughn had been born into the arms of London gangland and he’d been good at what he’d done, his heart had never really been in it; unlike the other men he’d known over the years, he’d never lived for the violence.
His dad had been a face, as had his granddad and his father before him, and from a very early age he’d known that there was only one option, and that was to go into the family business whether he liked it or not.
He knew over the years he’d gained a fearsome reputation, but mostly that’d come from the early days when he’d been young and over the top with his fists; trying to compensate for the fact the aggression didn’t come as naturally to him as everyone presumed it would. The reputation had suited him well; it’d meant a lot of men only needed to see him walk into the room before that look of fear crossed their face and they told him what he needed to know.
He was pleased he was out of the violence, but that didn’t stop him missing the excitement of the life. He’d thought when he retired he’d step away from the people as well, but after a few months he’d gone back to his old haunts – to the old faces, to the men he’d shared drinks with and the men he’d shared fights with. It was who he was through and through; it was the core of him and there was no other place he’d rather be than the heart of Soho. And then of course there was his promise; the promise he’d made to Alfie’s brother all those years ago.
It was an easy job – or it was supposed to be: break into the old warehouse down on the Canning Town dock. Everyone who needed to be paid off had been: the onsite drivers, the night security, even the cleaners had been bunged a few grand to keep their mouths shut tight and their eyes shut tighter.
The prize in the warehouse was worth paying the hush money for; 300 kilos of the finest brown, shipped in from North Africa and stored in the old warehouse by the McKenzie brothers, a rival South London gang. The brothers had left it there thinking no one would be foolish enough to touch it, but Vaughn and Alfie’s brother Connor were impervious to the fearsome reputation of the McKenzie boys.
The brothers had hidden it at the back of the warehouse where the fish and meat traders kept their goods and went about their daily business, not realising they were in touching distance of nearly half a tonne of heroin which was like powdered gold. The people who worked in the warehouse didn’t know either; all they were aware of was that they were being paid to look the other way.
Vaughn stood up and watched Connor sitting tensely over in the corner of his front room; he was worried about him. He’d known Connor since his late teens and nearly eighteen years later he was as close to him as ever.
The first time they’d met, they’d got into a fight with each other after Vaughn had accidentally knocked a cup of tea onto Connor’s cheap looking suit. Connor’s strength and height had been no match for Vaughn’s, but he’d squared up to him nevertheless in the back of Johnny’s All-Night Cafe on the corner of Greek Street.
‘Bleeding look where you’re going, mate. You’ve gone and ruined my whistle.’
Vaughn