| BOOK FIVE | THE LONDON CRIME KING | A DARK MAFIA ROMANCE NOVEL |
This book contains adult language and subject matter, including graphic violence, drugs and explicit sex that may be disturbing to some readers.
This series is NOT a typical romance...
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We haven't seen him.
He was not in school today.
That's a person.
Do I have your attention now?
Child abduction is every parent's worst nightmare. You read about missing children's cases online and in the papers, but you never think it will happen to you. In my case, I have feared the possible plight of losing my son since Quintin O'Shea vowed revenge. I am responsible for Killian's death. If it weren't for the filed rape allegations, he'd be alive. He committed suicide by hanging himself in the holding cell, and his father blamed me entirely.
I sympathise with the man, the O'Shea family and the traveller community because they believed in Killian's innocence. In their eyes, I falsely accused him of sexual assault. I ruined his life. I ended his life. I deserved to pay the price for his suffering.
I did not lie. I loved Killian O'Shea. He was my best friend. His betrayal left me with irremovable scars. I will never be the woman I should have been. That night in the woods will torment me for the rest of my life, and I only had one person, one monster, to thank for that.
I'd do it all over again, though. I'd relive the unutterable if it protected my son. He is not blameworthy for the events of my past. I will meet Quintin at any time, at any place, and trade myself for Carter. What the man does subsequent to the exchange makes no difference to me as long as my little person is safe.
Quintin's involvement in Carter's disappearance has yet to be ascertained by the metropolitan police department, but I know he is responsible. I trusted my gut instinct. I believed his former threat to break my heart, as I had broken his, and what better way to destroy a mother than to target her pride and joy, her reason to breathe and get out of bed in the morning, her precious baby boy.
Bustling activity filled the hotel room. Yet, I locked myself in the en-suite for privacy. I've had no alone time since yesterday when Benjamin contacted the police, and the preliminary investigation ensued to determine the facts of the case. I never held back. I answered every question, significant or insignificant, for the crime analyst unit to gather vital information: age, description, characteristics, clothes, footwear and close friends.
Condensation trickled down the rustic wall tiles in strings of beads. Hot water flared my skin. I have stayed beneath the faucet for longer than initially planned because I could not face the commotion next door.
I had to be alone with fathomless thoughts.
Listening to the officers in the next room, I stared into space and felt the dreaded sensation in my chest. I placed a hand to my mouth to suppress an agonising, gut-wrenching sob that threatened to disassemble every bone in my body. It shook me to the bitter core, the desperation, the misery, the torment. I had never experienced such painful powerlessness.
