Page 8 of White Rabbit

I wonder if they played a part in my arrest or if there was something else at play. When I think about how everything went down, I was still furious. I had been deliberately put in Ogmore Grange while Jono and Antonio, two of my men who had been arrested alongside me, had remained in Newtown. We had been divided to conquer, but those tactics wouldn’t work here. Once the appeal was filed and I was free, I’d catch my little rodent friend and string them up by their tail. They would learn that there was more to the mafia than fat old Italian men with Tommy Guns. We had adapted. Evolved.

I was The Left Hand.

A fixer of sorts. Not an underboss or a consigliere, but something much more. I wasn’t in the stereotypical chain of command. I operated outside it. Being free of the constraints of the rest of The Family is what made men fear me. I was unpredictable.

If Jules needed shit done—I made sure it was. No matter what the cost. It was my job to keep his name out of it and his nose clean. I had earned a well-deserved reputation, first as a fighter for my father and then as I’d worked my way through the ranks until I became the Left Hand. I’d worked hard to cultivate my image and my legacy as Elijah Creed, and in the outside world it brought me fear and respect, but here it was a little more problematic. This wasn’t a Family prison. I hadn’t yet worked out who could be trusted

“Beans, how many of The Cartel are in Officer Bishop's art class?” I ask as we mop the corridor outside the mess hall. I’d been assigned duties, just like the other inmates. It was tedious, but broke up the monotony of my days, and this one could definitely be used to my advantage as we lingered outside the classrooms.

Beans peers inside the room as he cleans the glass, his dirty rag just adding more smears. His expression is impassive as he polishes, and for a moment I’m impressed with his poker face because I can see the way his little eyes glance everywhere, logging it all.

“The three to the left,” he whispers as he focuses intently on dunking his rag back into his bucket. “Sanchez, Louis and Tiny.”

Beans never looked too long or lingered in the wrong places, always blending into the background, which is why he was a substantial source of intel.

“You should stay away Creed, they have a form for fighting,” he warns quietly as he goes back to cleaning and I move closer to look, mopping the floor as I go.

When I’d been arrested, I’d been looking into some rumors that The Cartel had been trying to set up new money laundering dens in our domain. I’d never let that happen. Not without bloodshed. Maybe this was a ‘two birds, one stone’ opportunity to send a message and get what I want.

I glance discreetly over to the table where the Cartel members are sitting, watching Officer Bishop deliver a session on what appears to be a color wheel. Her dark hair is pulled back into a bun today, making her look like a delicate ballet dancer, even in the ugly officer's uniform. Her long lashes flutter as one inmate says something that makes her chuckle, and her perfect lips part.

That laugh is mine. The soft smile on her lips—mine. All of her is. The sooner I made her realize that, the better.

They had a form for fighting, huh? Well, that just made it a lot easier. I clench my jaw as my woman, my White Rabbit, helps Tiny with something. She leans over him to correct something on his piece of paper and I don't miss the wolfish grin he gives the men sitting around him. Piece of shit.

Tiny is clearly an inside joke because that fucker is huge. He must be an inch or two above me at six foot six and is as wide as a doorway, it seems. His broad, muscular figure is only going to be a minor problem. Larger men rely on their size to scare away predators. They overestimate their ability and underestimate their opponents. It won’t be a hard task to tire him out or catch him unawares but it's the other two, Sanchez and Louis, that worry me as their eyes dart around the room watching everything. They’re alert and given their smaller, wiry frames are probably quick on their feet. Fuck, I'd have to waste more time planning my attack.

Not a big deal, just another inconvenience. Well, as long as they kept their hands to themselves and off my woman. The mop slaps against the tile floor as I clean, chuckling to myself. Why was I worrying about time? I had nothing but time here.

Chapter Six

AVA

“I’m glad it’s all going well!” I say, holding the phone so that I could see Chad and my friends in the background enjoying themselves at a bar near Chad’s company. They were all laughing and smiling as blue and purple lights pulsed in the background while I was sitting on my sofa in my cream short pajama set and an oversized hoodie.

“You should be here Ava, celebrating with us,” Chad pouts, clearly already drunk as I smile at his flushed cheeks and glassy gaze. His big new client had earned him an impressive commission and a pay rise, so they’d gone out after work for some impromptu celebrations.

Normally, I would have forced myself to go, but today I was exhausted and with another early start tomorrow, I couldn't feign the energy.

My concerns about Andrew were also growing. I’d called him earlier, but there had been no answer. Not that we often spoke on the phone, but after the dinner last week I was hoping he might be more open to talking to me without our father looming at the head of the table.

Rubbing my temple, I wince. “I know, I’m sorry. I promise we’ll do something together this weekend.”

“BORING!” I hear Tiffany shouting in the background before bursting into giggles and calling Chad to the bar. “Shots Chad! We need shots!”

“Love you, Ava!” Orla calls quickly after and the whole call dissolves into chaos before I eventually convince Chad to hang up.

Leaning forwards I sigh, burying my face in my hands. My eyes catch on the paperwork spread across my coffee table. I groan softly at the evidence of my obsession with in one Elijah Creed.

Aged 32, Caucasian male, six foot four.

In prison for grievous bodily harm and weapons dealing.

Also known as the ‘Left Hand’ in criminal circles.

Associated with a mafia group reportedly running from Newtown called The Family.

Boss unknown.

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