Page 64 of Chase

Sam appears from the passenger seat. She walks over cautiously. I watch her eyes move around, taking in the situation before her. She comes to my side, and I pass my arm around her waist. “Are you okay, Trouble?” I ask. She mumbles positively, but I’m not convinced this was Connor’s best idea.

“Sam,” my brother calls to her, then waves for her to go to him standing next to Hastings, who’s lying on the ground barely breathing. I release her. As she reaches him, he takes both her hands and pulls her close, then places a soft kiss on her lips. “I told you we would get justice.” She looks from him to Hastings on the floor, then to me.

“I want to be part of this,” she says, her voice clear. The request is deliberate. “What can I do? I need to be part of it.”

Although I knew it was an option, I’m surprised by her immediate request but bizarrely proud that she wants to take some ownership of what we’ve done tonight. My girl wants to be part of the sentencing we've passed on our convict, whether the means are legal or otherwise.

“You can help us bury him,” Connor tells her.

The ready-to-mix concrete is prepared. Hunter pulls Hastings to his feet, and Harrison stands behind him, keeping him steady. One leg at a time, Connor places one of Hastings’s feet into the waiting plastic buckets then passes a shovel to Sam. “Fill them up,” he tells her, and she lifts some wet concrete from the ground then slides it into the bucket. Hastings focuses on her and leers; she ignores him.

We all stand and watch as the concrete sets fast around his feet. I hobble over, pull a hankerchief from my pocket, then pass it to Sam. Without any need of instruction, she takes it and stuffs it in his mouth. His eyes bug in surprise, and she flicks a strand of blonde hair over her shoulder.

“Goodbye, Jasper,” she says sweetly before turning and walking away. Violet runs over to embrace her friend. The two women pull back and stare at one another.

“Have you seen what you needed to see?” my sister asks, and Samantha nods. “Good, then let’s go.” Violet looks at us all standing in a circle with a man ready to be thrown in the river. “You boys clean up,” she says. “Us girls are going to celebrate.”

“Violet Waite,” Harrison growls. “Go straight home. I want you to be there when I return.” She blinks at him then cocks her head to the side. He bristles at her defiance. “You shouldn’t fucking be here.”

“No, I should be here. I am supporting my friend, and we are going for a drink,” she replies sharply. She takes a step toward the waiting car.

“Do you not think you’d be better returning to The Level?” Connor suggests to Sam as she turns away. “We can all celebrate later. Together.”

“Perhaps we should just go back to The Level.” She turns to Violet, who narrows her eyes, annoyed. Samantha laughs, then looks between us all.

“Fine,” Violet says. “We will head off and meet you there.”

We watch the two women climb into the little sports car and drive off.

“Do you think they’ll be going where we told them to?” I ask.

“Not a fucking chance,” Harrison responds, then pulls his phone from his pocket. “Luckily, I have systems to keep control of my argumentative wife.”

Chapter twenty-six

The City of London

Samantha

Violet weaves her compact car through the labyrinth of London streets. The clock strikes one, yet the roads are still teeming with life. Drunken partygoers' laughter and off-key singing fill the air as they stumble along the pavement. My friend remains focused, her eyes fixed on the road as if she’s on a mission.

“Where are we going?”

She glances in my direction and smiles. “Out,” she replies.

“Out where? We told them we would head back.”

“For some fun, but first, we need to lose them.” Her eyes flick up to the rearview mirror, and I glance over my shoulder. A black car I haven’t seen before sits behind us, following a matter of meters away. Two men sit in the front, both dressed in dark suits.

“Who are they?” I ask, a tad anxious that we’re being followed by men we don’t know.

“Security,” she tells me. “Harry thinks I don’t know that he has me followed when I go out by myself. Men can be so dumb sometimes, no matter how clever they are. I want to go out, drink, and have girly fun tonight.”

“Tonight?” I giggle. “Vi, it’s tomorrow already.” She shrugs, unruffled by my observation.

“I don’t care. London never sleeps. We’re having a girl’s night out. We’re celebrating that bastard who hurt you being at the bottom of the Thames.”

My chest strains with her direct assessment, and the uncertainty that I’ve been burying resurfaces. Tonight, I was involved in someone’s murder. Someone who had hurt me. And terrifyingly, it hadn’t crossed my mind to object when I heard what was happening. Hell, I wanted to be involved.

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