Page 62 of Fragile

“Someone’s funeral from the looks of it,” I said, dissing his choice of outfit.

“Funny fucker aren’t you. If you don’t get in the car, it will be yours next,” he threatened, flexing his massive shoulders, and taking a step into my personal space. That was the thing about criminals, they had no respect for a person’s boundaries.

“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll get in the car.”

I sniggered and said with a head tilt, “Where the fuck are we? In the middle of a poor man’s version of the fucking Godfather? Will I be swimming with the fishes next?” You could say it was suicide to wind him up but pissing him off may result in his loss of control, and that is exactly what I needed. “You gonna make me an offer I can’t refuse?” I added with a chuckle. It was all bravado, of course, deep down I was crapping myself.

“Something like that. Get in the car princess,” ‘Old’ Sean said with a lazy smile, totally unaffected by my display of rebellion. He was sometimes called Old Sean to differentiate himself from his son, who was also called Sean. If there was one thing I knew about the Irish Mafia, it was that they weren’t very creative when naming their kids. I can’t tell you how many, Sean’s and Patrick’s I’d had the misfortune to meet.

Another man I’d never seen before appeared around the back of the car and opened the backseat door for me, motioning for me to climb inside. He was tall and lanky, and his black hair was pulled up in a bun and shaved at the sides. He was dressed identically to his buddy. If I only had him to deal with, I probably could have taken him, but Sean was a burly sod, even Max would struggle there.

Dragging a hand across my jaw, I exhaled noisily and climbed into the car. The door clicked shut and I waited for the two men to join me. Mr Man Bun got behind the wheel and Sean joined him shotgun (no pun intended thank fuck).

Flicking a piece of lint off my sleeve, I pointed out in a tired voice. “Why can’t it wait until next weekend? I’m seeing him at the Charity Ball?”

“You know Gerard doesn’t like to mix business and pleasure. What did you do to your hand?”

I looked down at my skimmed knuckles and shrugged. “I was having my nails done and she slipped.”

Man Bun chuckled and shot a look at his colleague. “Gutsy twat isn’t he?”

As the car moved off down the side-street they’d hijacked me on, Sean turned in his seat, now pointing a gun at me. I wasn’t overly alarmed as this wasn’t my first time. He rested the gun on the top of his seat and peered at me over the rim of it, having now removed his sunglasses. Those beady eyes held a trace of humour. I sure hoped the road wasn’t bumpy as that ‘I shot Marvin in the face’ scene from Pulp Fiction swam through my thoughts.

Pulling my gaze away, I glanced around the car, taking in how pristine the interior was and that clinical smell. The last time I’d been in this seat I’d noticed that tinge of something similar to bleach. If only the car could talk, I imagine it had seen its fair share of action and then some.

“So, where are you taking me to dinner sweetheart?” I snarked with a twist to my lips. You couldn’t show these guys fear, they fed off that shit like sharks. My comment brought Man Bun’s soulless eyes to mine in the rearview mirror, but I looked away.

They had obviously decided to let me sweat it out, but I already knew they were taking me to Gerard. I didn’t fear for my life at that point. If he’d wanted me whacked, he would have done it there on the spot. Nope, this journey would be all about negotiation. I knew what Gerard wanted. I was so in touch with the pulse of this side of London, and I could read these guys like a book.

Sean didn’t answer me, and he turned to his colleague, the gun still trained on me. I took a deep breath and told myself to relax. I was surprised they hadn’t blindfolded me, to be honest, and I purposefully looked out of the window to establish where we were going. I knew London like the back of my hand, they certainly wouldn’t be able to take me to any place I couldn’t find again or get away from.

The journey felt surreal as I homed in on the conversation between two members of the Kinlan crime family. They were arguing about which actor played the best James Bond and then started to rate them in order. Under any other circumstances I would have joined in, everyone knew Connery was the boss of all the Bonds.

I flexed my grazed knuckles. “Daniel Craig you drippy fuckers,” I put in when they couldn’t remember the name of the most recent guy who had played him. If I’d had to listen to them calling him ‘the dude playing him now’ one last time I was going to grab the gun and shoot myself.

“Ah yeah, that’s right. Craig. I’d put him second to last behind Brosnan,” Sean laughed, waving the gun around to embellish his choice.

Fuck me, there was something I could agree on with this idiot as Brosnan was hands down the worst Bond ever.

I shelved the thought, dragging my attention back to the fact that I was about to meet with a fucking Don. How nice it would have been to be James Bond at that very moment, he’d get out of this shit without a scratch.

As I drew my gaze back outside, I recognised we were in Mayfair immediately; even more so when the car pulled off the road and drove down the ramp into the car park of my father’s building. What the actual fuck? So, I was meeting Gerard Kinlan in my father’s offices?

The cogs started to whirr in my head; now it made sense why they hadn’t blindfolded me or taken my phone. They hadn’t even patted me down, not that I took my gun out of the apartment much.

Man Bun parked the car and I waited in the back until Sean opened the back door.

We rode the lift up to the top floor in silence and when we arrived at my father’s private level, I released the breath I hadn’t realised I’d been holding.

Following the two goons through the corridor towards the boardroom, anxiety circled me like a massive bloodthirsty dog. Purely because that is what had happened at a previous meeting. The Kinlan’s bred dogs illegally for fighting.

And then we were entering the room, and my eyes immediately fell on Gerard fucking Kinlan, sitting in one of the huge leather chairs that sat around the large glass boardroom table. He looked as smug as fuck with a glass of whisky in his hand. Next to him sat my father, Garrett Knight. Both men sitting there like fucking besties sharing a drink.

Motherfuckers.

“Son?” Garrett acknowledged. He looked ashen faced, like he hadn’t slept for a while.

“Garrett,” I replied with a brief nod of the head before turning back to Gerard. “You wanted to see me?” I kept my gaze on Gerard, blanking my father as I approached them both from the other side of the table. I didn’t particularly care for dear old dad but him looking so unwell still didn’t sit right with me.

---