Copyright
Published by AVON
A Division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins 2018
Copyright © Jacqui Rose 2018
Cover design © Alison Groom 2018
Cover photograph © Irina Bg / Shutterstock
Cover photograph © Lawrence Garwood / Alamy
Jacqui Rose asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9780008287283
Ebook Edition © Jun 2018 ISBN: 9780008287290
Version: 2020-01-22
Dedication
To AP and Boo – my joy, my heart, my soul’s desire, my keepers of my peace, my freedom givers, my wingless journeymen – it’s only a shame horses can’t read.
The Devil asked me how I knew my way around the halls of hell. I told him I did not need a map for the darkness I know so well.
Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Epigraph
Before
Yesterday
Today
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Two Months Later
Acknowledgements
If You Loved Toxic, Turn the Page for a Sneak Peek From Jacqui’s Thrilling New Book Fatal Coming Soon …
Keep reading …
About the Author
Also by Jacqui Rose
About the Publisher
BEFORE
She could hear them now. They weren’t far behind. Closing in and coming ever nearer, calling their names. She could almost feel their breath on her neck, their cloying touch on her skin, pulling her back. They needed to move but above the sound of the rain she could hear the barking dogs, louder and louder. They didn’t have long. She knew that. She could feel the blood trickling down her legs and panic beginning to rise as the dark set in. And the pain, the pain was getting worse. She couldn’t breathe. It was holding her. Slowing her down, making her not want to move, but she had to push through. They had to keep going. They couldn’t rest, not until they were safe. Shhh, they had to be quiet. They had to be still … The dogs, there they were again. Nearer … Nearer … But oh God, the pain. She didn’t know how long she could bear it … Maybe if they just stayed here. Maybe they’d be okay, but she was so cold, and the bleeding was getting heavier … Oh Christ, the blood. The dogs would smell the blood if she didn’t cover it up.
Then, crawling out into the moonlight as the rain poured down, she saw them, they were coming. It was too late, they were coming …
YESTERDAY
ESSEX
In a remote scrap yard, four miles outside Saffron Waldon, Johnny Dwyer bent over the perfectly cut up lines of coke. He paused, almost in reverence, looking appreciatively at the white powder before eagerly pushing the fifty-pound note up into his nostril, hungrily sampling the new batch of cocaine he’d just shipped in.
He felt the burn at the back of his nose followed by the tingling sensation in his throat. This was the best part. The first rush which he’d spend the rest of the night trying to chase.‘Can I move now, Johnny? I’ve got cramp in me bleedin’ foot.’
Johnny stared down at the brass in disgust. Whores, they were all the same. Moaning and doing his head in. Jesus, if he’d wanted that, he would’ve stayed at home. He didn’t know why he’d even bothered and now, now he was regretting it big time.
‘If you know what’s good for you, you’ll shut the fuck up and keep still.’ He bent down again, snorting another line off the hooker’s stomach whilst trying, then quickly giving up on remembering her name.
‘I ain’t going to lie here any longer, I’ve got to go to the bog. I’ll bleedin’ piss meself otherwise.’
Whining and pulling a face she began to wriggle, spilling the coke down the side of her scrawny tattooed hip.
Johnny gnawed down on his lip. That was it. The final straw. Not only did this silly cow think it was okay to waste some decent blow, but she was now beginning to spoil his high.
Leaping towards her and pushing his hands down hard against her throat, Johnny’s eyes bulged with rage.
‘And I ain’t going to pay for some bleedin’ crackhead like you to have a piss in my bathroom, so if you wanna …’
‘Boss?’
The door to the portacabin was flung open. Johnny scowled. ‘Fuck me, what happened to knocking? Give a man a chance to put his cock away.’
Big Billy Baldwin, who stood no taller than five feet, grinned at Johnny. ‘Sorry boss, but he’s here. Ma told me to bring him straight to you. She said you’d know what to do. She also said “enjoy!”’
Tucking his penis back in his trousers, Johnny wiped his nose and nodded. ‘Fine, bring him in … oh, and get her out of here.’
Happy to oblige, Billy stepped forward, grabbing hold and dragging the naked woman off the table.
‘That hurt! Get off me! Oi! Who d’ya think yer manhandling? And what about me bleedin’ money? I need me clothes! I’ve a mind to—’
The cabin door shut, muting the rest of her words.
Straightening himself up, Johnny rubbed his chin, feeling the coarse dark stubble, a throwback to his Romany genes. Sighing, he swept back his black hair as he leant forward on his chair, moodily spinning round the well-used cosh which sat in front of him on the desk.
He hadn’t had the best of days; he’d heard a few things through the Essex grapevine which hadn’t made him very happy. In fact, they’d positively pissed him off.
Ma had told him his wife, Bree, was acting suspiciously again, no doubt planning, thinking about leaving him as she so often did. But of course, that was just never going to happen. No one left him … ever. And if the stupid mare dared or thought she could just get up and go with the kids, then she really was braver than most men he knew.
But he’d sort it. He always did when she decided to step out of line. Though it always surprised him that she still hadn’t learnt the lesson by now; she was his, and she was going nowhere. Yet even with all he’d taught her, every few months she’d get a bee in her bonnet about how she was going to leave, and every few months Ma would tell him about it. And then, well, he just sorted it the best way he knew how.
Rolling a spliff, Johnny thought about the other piece of information he’d heard today. The information which Ron the runt – who was not only one of the biggest grasses between Essex and John o’ Groats, but also one of the biggest liars – had delighted in telling him.
‘It’s true Johnny, I swear it is. I swear. I wouldn’t lie to you. I was told by one of me sources.’
Johnny had stared at him in disbelief, but even when Billy – who’d been branding one of the horses at the time – had held a red-hot, glowing horseshoe inches away from Ron’s face, the runt had sworn that his information was true. That now Reginald Reynolds, the kingpin of Essex, was dead, Vaughn Sadler and Alfie Jennings, two legendary faces of Soho, had decided to come back home. Home to Essex to set up shop and take the crown.
And if Ron was right? Well bollocks to that. There was simply no way he was about to let that happen. No bleedin’ way at all.
On top of all that, he was now going to have to deal with Shane, one of his employees who thought it was okay to do a moonlight fucking flit and go and work somewhere else. So, before he could relax, and get on with the rest of his night, he was going to have to teach Shane a lesson. Then hopefully, things could finally get back to normal.
The door opened.
‘Hello, Shane. Glad you could make it. Come on in.’ Johnny cracked his knuckles, smiling as the tall, lanky young man was brought in by Billy.
Rubbing a bit of coke on his gums, Johnny’s crystal-blue eyes stared coldly. ‘Have I or have I not done a lot for you?’
Shane Hanlan mumbled, gazing down at the chipped, grey vinyl floor. ‘Yes, boss … yes.’
Amusing himself, Johnny tapped the cosh on the palm of his hand, winking at Billy as he leaned towards a trembling, blanching 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.’
TODAY
ESSEX
1
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 lit up. She called in excitement, ‘Kieran! Kieran! Come on, there’s a surprise.’
Panicked at the volume of her daughter’s voice, Bree gently shushed Molly, putting her finger over her lips. ‘Shhh! We got to try to keep quiet, darlin’. We don’t want anyone hearing us, do we?’
Smiling and kissing Molly on her forehead, Bree tried to push down the rising panic, attempting to ignore the thought she’d started something she couldn’t finish.
‘Well, what is it? What’s the surprise? Is it for me?’ Kieran Dwyer, although only nine, was the spitting image of his father. Both in temperament and looks. He stood at the bathroom door, grinning widely. He loved surprises.
‘No, sweetheart.’
Kieran folded his arms petulantly, reminding Bree so much of Johnny. ‘Then I ain’t going bleedin’ nowhere. Go on your own.’
Tenderly smoothing down his thick black hair, Bree looked sadly at Kieran. She loved him so much at times it ached, but with each passing day, Kieran was becoming more and more like Johnny. Idolising him and wanting to be just like his father when he ‘grew up’; another reason why she had to get them away before it was too late.
Patiently, Bree spoke, crouching down to Kieran’s height. ‘Okay, I tell you what, how about this. If you come with me now, I’ll buy you any game you want.’
Kieran’s blue eyes darkened as he stared suspiciously at Bree. ‘Any game?’
‘Any. I promise. But we have to go, now.’
‘Why?’
That was enough talk. Grabbing hold of both Kieran’s and Molly’s hands, Bree gently pulled the pair along the hallway. But as they neared the front door, it burst open and a tall figure, silhouetted against the bright sun, stood just inside the hallway.
‘Hello, darlin’. What’s all this then?’
Backing away, Bree clutched the children’s hands tightly as she began to shake.
‘Johnny … I … I …’
High-pitched laughter burst out as he clapped his hands, skipping on the spot. ‘Bree falls for it every time! Funny Bree. Funny Bree.’
Bree’s legs collapsed underneath her. ‘Ryan! You bleedin’ idiot. What you have to go and do that for?’
Ryan shrugged, looking hurt. His face crumpled as he held his head and rocked back and forth on the spot. ‘I found kittens. Nice, nice kittens. Have I done bad? Has Ryan done bad? In trouble with Ma? In trouble with Ma?’
Bree stared at Ryan Dwyer, Johnny’s identical twin brother. She tried to keep her voice even as she smiled at him kindly, trying to alleviate his panic. ‘Shhh, Ryan. It’s okay. You’re not in trouble. I promise. But we have to go. Come on, hurry.’
Molly piped up. ‘We’re going to get a surprise.’
Ryan’s eyes narrowed, looking troubled, his mind trying to comprehend. He stuttered.
‘Does … does … does Johnny know? Got to tell Johnny. We tell Johnny.’
Getting up, with her legs still trembling, Bree spoke soothingly. ‘Well it wouldn’t be a surprise then, would it, Ryan. Look, darlin’, we need to go. Come on Molly, hold my hand.’
Bree only managed to get part way down the stone white path before Ryan, who was dressed as usual in a blue Ralph Lauren tracksuit, stopped.
