Toxic: The addictive new crime thriller from the best selling author that will have you gripped in 2018. Jacqui RoseЧитать онлайн книгу.
Shane. ‘I can’t hear you. Speak up, son.’
‘Yes, boss! Yes!’
‘That’s better. Now I need to ask you a question … Do you think I’m stupid?’
Shane’s head shot up, his eyes darted around the room as his words rushed out. ‘No, of course not! No way.’
‘No? Then why? Why after all that me and Ma have done for you, do you do this? We train you up. Give you a job. Even welcome you into our home. For what, though? So you can throw it all back in me face and go and leave me?’
‘I was going to come back. Straight up I was. Johnny, you got to believe me.’
Johnny Dwyer exploded. His handsome face turning red. He opened his mouth and bellowed as the veins in the side of his head swelled and pulsated. ‘Do I look like I have mug written all over me forehead? Well, do I?’
With his whole body shaking, Shane could just about tremble out a ‘No’.
‘No, that’s right. But you son, you have disloyalty written right through you, so much so it’s coming out of your fucking arse. And now you’ve given me no option. I got to teach you a lesson, and it breaks me heart to do so. But what choice did you give me, hey? You should never have tried to leave.’
He paused for a moment before whispering into Shane’s ear. ‘I already told ya, nobody leaves Johnny.’
Pulling back from him, Johnny Dwyer’s eyes filled with tears. He lifted the cosh in the air, staring compassionately at Shane. He smiled warmly, speaking softly.
‘I’m sorry, son. I really am.’
The cosh came whistling down, cracking and splitting Shane’s nose in one blow, tearing the skin apart on his eyelids. The blood splattered and poured all over the portacabin walls and floor, and as Johnny brought the cosh down time and time again, Shane Hanlan dropped to the ground, screaming and writhing in agony whilst begging for his life.
Ten minutes later, covered in blood, Johnny Dwyer sat on the floor exhausted, cradling Shane in his arms.
‘That’s it son, it’s over now. Don’t you worry about a thing. You hear me? No need to cry.’
A rasping sound bubbled from Shane’s mouth, his face swollen into an unrecognisable pulp.
‘We’ll get you cleaned up and then everything can get back to normal. And I’m really glad you’re back, son. I thought it was time for my boy to come back to me. You’d been gone long enough. But next time, just remember, nobody ever leaves me … ever.’
As Johnny bent down to kiss Shane on his forehead, a sound of screeching tyres and blaring horns came from outside the portacabin.
Leaping up, Johnny ran out. ‘What the …’
‘Get down, boss! Get down!’ Billy yelled as he dived on the floor and gunfire shots came hard and fast, cracking and speeding through the air, ricocheting off oil cans and scrap metal, and bouncing off skips in the yard.
Sprinting across in front of the portacabins, Johnny threw himself behind the pile of crashed racing cars, frantically scrambling to get to one of the numerous guns which were hidden around the yard.
‘Look out!’ Billy’s voice soared urgently through the air.
Spinning around, Johnny saw the dazzling lights of a speeding red car coming towards him. Desperately, he scrabbled along the hard, gravelled ground, waiting for the impact to hit. But instead the car came to a screeching halt, inches away.
Johnny could smell the heat from the engine. The bumper of the car almost in contact with his face. He was pinned against the wall and all he could do was watch whilst the driver of the car, dressed in a black balaclava, jumped out, rushing round to crouch down beside him.
‘Take this as a warning, Dwyer. Next time there won’t be another chance.’
Reversing at speed, the driver hurled a petrol bomb towards one of the barns, sending it up into a ball of yellow and orange flames. ‘You’ve been warned, Dwyer!’
Johnny silently watched the car drive off into the darkness. Tasting the hatred in his mouth.
‘Who do ya think it was, boss?’
Johnny’s face curled up into a snarl. ‘I don’t know, Billy, but when I find out, they’re going to be dead men.’
By the side of the old watermill on the River Bourne the red car pulled up, skidding to a halt in the darkness of the night. Pulling off his balaclava as he turned off the ignition, Alfie Jennings grinned at Vaughn. ‘Vaughnie, we’re back. We’re fucking back. Essex won’t know what’s hit them.’
ESSEX
Bree Dwyer chewed nervously on her fingers. She felt sick and was dog-tired having been up most of the night listening to every sound and jumping at every car light which came onto the site.
She glanced up at the large white, glittery-faced clock as she stood in the kitchen of her immaculate, newly decorated static mobile home which was situated just outside the village of Ashdon, close to Shadwell Wood.
She shared her home with her husband and little Molly and Kieran, and on the odd, miserable occasion, her mother-in-law, who only lived next door.
Sighing and taking a sip of orange juice out of an Arsenal mug, Bree tried to swallow, but her mouth was too dry and too sticky, and her stomach kept alternating between painful cramps and butterflies.
She wasn’t ill, she knew that. Though she wished that was all it was. No, her problem was just down to good old-fashioned nerves. Because today was the day she was supposed to be leaving her husband, Johnny, once and for all.
A sudden wave of nausea rushed over her, forcing her to run to the bathroom and lean over the toilet bowl as the sweet sickly water rushed into her mouth. Starting to shake and praying it wasn’t the start of a panic attack, which she often suffered from. She took a deep breath, terrified at the thought of what she was about to do. A moment later, Bree Dwyer began to vomit.
Flushing the toilet, which was entirely encrusted with Swarovski crystals, Bree rinsed out her mouth, pushing her long blonde hair behind her ears. She caught sight of her reflection in the mirror, but quickly turned away. Hating what she saw. Hating seeing the look of fear in her green eyes, reminding her of a startled rabbit.
Holding onto the basin, Bree squeezed her eyes shut, took another deep breath before counting down from ten. Okay, she was ready. It was about to begin.
‘Molly! Kieran! Quickly! Come on babies, we got to go.’
A few seconds later, Molly, who’d just turned six and proudly told anybody who’d listen, appeared at the bathroom door, clutching one of her stuffed giraffes.
Her long corkscrew blonde hair tumbled down in waves over her tiny, little shoulders. She spoke, sounding like someone much older than her age.
‘What’s the rush? Where are we going? Are the others coming?’
Bending down to hurriedly button up Molly’s butterfly print blouse properly, Bree shook her head, speaking in a whisper as if there was somebody listening. ‘No, darlin’, they’re not.’
Molly scowled. Her button nose wrinkling up. ‘Why not? I want them to come.’
Nervously, Bree looked around. It seemed like her heart was pounding so hard in her chest, it was just about the only thing she could hear. ‘I know sweetheart, but if they do, then they’ll find out about the surprise.’
Molly’s face suddenly