Scarlet Women

Then another one threw open the back door and jumped in beside Annie. She shrank back. The one up front —in the fucking driving seat now—tossed the pistol to the one in the back. The one in the back was grinning, and wearing a deaf aid.

It was Deaf Derek. The treacherous bastard.

‘Hiya Mrs Carter,’ he said, and rammed the pistol’s cold butt up hard against her throat.

The cab blocking them pulled away. The man beside Tony’s slumped body eased the Jag forward again, into the flow of traffic. The cab that had stopped alongside the Jag was still there, blocking that lane. Horns were honking, people were shouting, but the traffic flow soon picked up and then that was all far behind them.

The driver glanced back over his shoulder with a malicious grin. Annie saw that he had a finger missing from his right hand, which was clenched on the leather-covered steering wheel. Her heart froze in her chest.

Charlie Foster, the number one Delaney boy. Charlie, who had big scores to settle with her. Now, he was going to get his chance.

‘Comfortable back there, Mrs Carter?’ he sneered.

He didn’t wait for her answer. The Jag sped toward Battersea. Tony was slumped unconscious in the front. No help there. No help anywhere.

Deaf Derek kept the gun pressed to her throat as the car roared along.

She’d rattled some cages all right. And now they were going to make her pay.

Chapter 47

They shoved her inside a shed in the Delaneys’ breaker’s yard. Just her. God knew what they’d done with Tony. They slammed the door shut on her and she heard them bolt it from outside. Leaving her in the semi-dark, terrified of what might come next. Annie stood there and told herself to keep calm, to keep thinking—but all the time, panic was exploding in her brain and she was thinking: They’re going to kill me.

She’d done the unthinkable—she’d crossed Redmond Delaney over something that mattered greatly to him. It mattered so much to the twisted git that he was obviously even prepared to risk Constantine’s wrath—and if he was prepared to go that far, she knew she was toast. Unless somehow she could get out? Escape? But there was a guard with an Alsatian on the gate. The guard looked handy and the Alsatian looked as if it would rip her guts out if she set foot in the yard.

It was still daylight, though, and chinks of light were now becoming visible to her, permeating the gloom inside the shed. She was able to look around and actually see things. There were piles of rope on the floor, and a mounded heap of grubby tarpaulin sheets. It smelled stale in there.

If I could find something to use, she thought. Maybe a hammer?

But she couldn’t see any tools, only the ropes and tarps. She went over to the nearest pile of tarps, hoping there was something useful underneath them. She lifted the top tarp and fell back with a cry of horror.

She’d found Pete Delacourt, the tattooed man.

He was there, his tattooed face frozen in a hideous death mask, his staring eyes as blank and milky as a cod’s on a slab. The scent of decay rose from the body and she quickly dropped the tarp back over the corpse, gagging and backing up against the shed wall.

Oh Christ, she thought in fear and disgust.

And now there was a noise and the door was opening. She’d had no time to get anything to defend herself with, no time at all. She turned to the door. Charlie Foster was stepping inside, smirking at her as he closed the door behind him. She’d run out of chances, and now Charlie was about to get his chance for revenge.

Annie stepped back, but the wall of the shed was right behind her. She had nowhere to run. If she could reach the door, maybe she could get out—but she’d have to go through Charlie first. And that wouldn’t be easy.

‘Hi, Mrs Carter,’ he said, sneering at her panicked expression, edging closer.

Annie said nothing.

‘Aw now, that’s not polite. You ought to be nice to me, you know. Maybe we could cut a deal and I could get you out of this mess. But only if you’re nice to me.’

Ha! What total bullshit. Annie stared at him with loathing. Charlie would never cross Redmond. He was too scared of that unpredictable Irish temper. Too scared of waking up dead one fine day.

‘I’ve given you gifts, after all,’ said Charlie silkily, coming closer. ‘The flowers, did you like the flowers?’

‘You bastard,’ she said. The dead flowers. It had been him.

‘Oh, what’s up? You didn’t like them? And the cat. Now did you like the cat?’

So he’d done that.

‘You’re one sick sorry son of a bitch,’ said Annie, feeling behind her for something—anything—to use. She’d brain him without a qualm, given the slightest chance.

His smile dropped and his pale blue eyes wore a fake look of hurt. ‘Now that’s not nice. And you could be nice to me, Mrs Carter, you know you could if you tried. Like you’re nice to that fucking Yank Barolli.’

Annie stiffened.

‘Oh yeah, I saw you go in his house. I’ve been keeping tabs on you,’ Charlie went on, edging closer and closer. ‘I saw you there on his desk. In your undies.’

‘You sneaky little arsehole,’ said Annie flatly.

So he’d been snooping around after her, the creep. Now she was glad she had once had him done over. They should have finished the slimy little fucker off: letting him carry on breathing had been their only mistake.

‘It’s all over for you, Mrs Carter,’ said Charlie. ‘You think Steve Taylor and Gary Tooley and the rest of the Carter boys are going to take you boffing Barolli’s brains out? They won’t. You’re finished. Hell,’ he laughed, ‘you’re finished anyway. Redmond’s gonna see to that—but not before I’m finished with you.’

He lunged forward very fast and caught her. Annie struggled away from him, disgusted and furious, while he tried to get his mouth on hers. She tried to get her knee up, but he was clever: he had his lower body turned aside, she only connected with his thigh.

‘You dirty little shit,’ she gasped, grunting with the effort of trying to wrench free of him.

‘Now just hold still…’ His hand, the one with the missing finger, the one she had had her boys cut off, was on her jaw, trying to hold her head still while she strained away from him.

Oh fuck, she thought in desperation.

He was stronger than she’d thought. She could feel her own strength draining away. She didn’t have a gun, or she’d have shot him dead in an instant. She didn’t even have the kiyoga. She’d been taken completely unawares and that was sloppy, careless; she knew it. She had nothing, and she was getting weaker by the second.

He was going to rape her. And then he was going to follow out orders and kill her. A scream escaped her before his mouth, his filthy repulsive mouth, fastened on hers. It felt cold and slimy. She started to retch. Suddenly, light flooded into the shed.

‘Charlie!’ The voice cracked like a whip.

Charlie dropped her like a well-trained dog called to heel. He turned. Annie sagged back against the wall, breathing hard, and blinking against the light she saw Redmond Delaney standing there, outlined in the open doorway.

‘Get out,’ said Redmond.