FOR MY SINS Steamy Psycho Thriller, The David Trilogy

FOR MY SINS by S C Cunningham

THE DAVID TRILOGY

Book III

FOR MY SINS

by S C Cunningham

THE STORY SO FAR

David Howard entered this world a beautiful, smiley, cheeky boy, the light of his mother's eye. His parents, wealthy socialites, sent David and his jealous sister to boarding school; children were deemed to be seen and not heard.

Whilst at Heddington Hall school for boys, David's cherubic good looks attracted attention. He was abused from the age of seven years by his headmaster, school priest, teachers, and 6th formers. Their unchallenged power, coupled with his fear and shame, kept the secret for a decade.

When David's mother died in a car crash, and he was rejected by his childhood sweetheart, his world finally collapsed. Abandoned and alone, he formed a scarab shell and turned to the devil for help. God certainly wasn't helping him, but the devil might.

Child David asked to be able to survive the abuse until he was big enough, old enough, and strong enough. Then adult David could take over, find those responsible and kill them, preferably by dissection; he spent a lot of time in the science lab.

It worked, he was good at it, he became a cunning, charming, stylish, bi-sexual-tour-de-force, that everyone wanted a piece of, a killer with a list. Until he was caught and placed in prison.

After a daring escape, he created a story that he'd died in a fire. With his substantial inheritance, and the police no longer looking for him, he set about winning back his childhood sweetheart.

But all did not go to plan.

CHAPTERS 1 - 10

CHAPTER 1

Docklands, London

As the speeding ambulance navigated potholed streets David Howard, hooked up to an intravenous drip, fell in and out of consciousness. A paramedic hovered over him, checking bindings and vital signs.

They were on their way to A&E, and once they sourced who he was, prison. No way could he let that happen, he wasn't done yet, he had one more debt to collect. There was no going back,

As his head rocked from side-to-side, his hazy mind wandered back to a time in prison, the moment the debt came into play.

Surround by the cacophony of penitentiary life, and unfazed by admiring stares, David Howard leisurely lorded it along B-Section's balcony, returning to his cell after a heavy gym session.

From an early age he was aware of his looks, of the evil they attracted, and how to use their power to his advantage. Tall, dark, muscled, with regal nose, hooded eyes, controlling stare, and a history of violence, he had a fascinating, predatory, quality. Prisoners scrambled out of his way in a mix of awe, lust, and fear.

He never did quite understand why men and women held such a fascination for what was, clearly, bad for them.

An older prisoner stood in a cell doorway, waiting for him to pass, giving a polite attention seeking cough.

'Morning Howard how are we today?' he barked, his crisp upper-crust British accent reeking of landed gentry, jarringly out of place in a prison.

David stopped a few feet from the man's door and leaned back against the balcony railing. With tilted head, open legs, and hands crossed at his crutch, he stood in silence, taking his time to shamelessly survey the man's body, head to toe.

The air's bustle of prison life hushed, as inmates stopped what they were doing and looked up through railings. Showtime.

The man, enjoying the attention, puffed out his chest, ran a bejewelled hand through expensive, shaggy, salt and pepper hair. And jerked his chin, encouraging David to take a good look.

'Hello Posh... do you ever give up?' David spread his legs further and cupped his cock, giving it a playful squeeze.

Posh licked his lips in anticipation. 'Like what you see?' he asked, in low, breathy, tone. 'Wanna come into my lair for a cup of tea, or something... hotter?'

David leaned his head to the other side, gave a raise of eyebrow, a questioning purse of his lips, and firmer squeeze of his growing cock.

Admittedly the man was in good shape for his age. Tall, strong, and bohemian handsome. The look of an aging British rock star, ridden hard, and put away wet.

He oozed money, with expensive tousled hair, sun crumpled skin, Hollywood bleached teeth, and glaringly understated wristwatch, and shoes.

Posh repeated the question, his voice almost a whisper.

'Do you like what you see Howard?'

David released his hands from his crutch, dropped them to his side, and gave a quick jerk of his hips. The length of his waking appendage could clearly be seen nudging through material. An intake of breath filled the air. He was not small.

Posh raised an appreciative eyebrow. Trying not to show his excitement. The man was a god.

'I see that you do,' he smouldered, enjoying the tingle of his own cock coming to life.

David made him wait, grinding chiselled dimples, as if in deep thought, tossing the idea around his head. You could hear a pin drop.

Coming to a decision, he gave one of his cheekier grins.

'Nah, not really, mate,' shaking his head. 'You're not for me. You're a good-looking sod, I'll give you that, but you're an evil bastard, and evil bastards tend to get on my tits. Oh, and of course there is your money and your copious supply of blow to consider. But I've got all the dosh I need thanks, and coke makes spunk taste like shit. So, no thanks mate, not today. Go pimp your button mushroom dick somewhere else,' he smiled, with a cheerful, 'okay?'

A collective intake of breath silenced the block.

Three inmates, who'd been up caught waiting behind David, decided it was time to move on. They squeezed past the two men, heads down, grinning from ear to ear, scurrying out of the way.

Posh was a powerful, evil, bullying bastard, the kind that you didn't mess with. But it was time he had his comeuppance, and David certainly had the balls, or the stupidity, to dish it. This was gold.

David nodded a jolly 'see ya' at Posh, and stepped in line behind the three inmates, cheerfully whistling the tune, 'You can't always get what you want,' by the Rolling Stones.

The three joined him, singing the lyrics, at first in a whisper.

'... you can't always get what you want.'

Then louder as they worked their way along the balcony. Then louder and louder. Posh watched them leave, his seething eyes staring into their backs.

A few more inmates joined, then a few more. Soon voices built throughout the block, as every prisoner sang out loud in beautiful harmony.

Wardens' heads spun, trying to work out what was happening, where the chant had started from, and who it was directed at. With the echoing noise it was difficult to tell, until one noticed that Posh was the only one not singing.

He stood fuming, angry at the put down. Used to getting what he wanted, his philosophy of 'just beat it, or throw money at it, and it's yours' had always worked for him. But not with the sought-after David Howard, obviously.

'You didn't used to be so fucking choosy, boy, or have you forgotten?'

David ignored him and continued down the corridor with an arrogant 'you can't touch this' swagger.

Posh seethed.

'You should've learnt by now, Howard, that I always get what I want,' he sneered. 'I'm getting out today. But don't worry pretty boy, I've left a little keepsake under your pillow, so you won't miss me. Oh, and I'll say hello to that pretty woman of yours, Tara isn't it? I'll send her your love, I'll deliver it in person. Bon voyage.'

He stepped back into his cell and slammed the heavy door shut. The violent sound sent a shockwave through the block, putting an abrupt end to the singing.

'Oh dear, knickers in a twist,' sing-songed David under his breath. 'Good riddance Posh, don't bother to write.'

He made his way along the balcony to his cell, high fiving a few inmates along the way. No one liked bullyboy Posh, few had the courage to stand up to him.

'Conceited knob, he gets on my tits,' David winked at a passing love-struck prisoner.

Closing his door behind him, he stretched out on his bunk, placed hands behind his head, and closed his eyes, letting out a sigh, enjoying the peace.

Turning to face the wall, he smiled adoringly at a photograph of Tara, stuck to the brickwork.

'Now, you can get on my tits any time you want,' he beamed.

A noise scrunched under his head, remembering Posh's words, he delved beneath his pillow and pulled out a large brown envelope. David Howard was written in neat flowery blue ink across the front.

He looked back at the photograph, his face darkened, remembering the letter Tara had sent him all those years ago, the one he'd read alone on his school dorm bed, the one that politely rejected his outpouring of love, the one that broke his heart.

With a sense of foreboding, he jumped up and moved to the window. He turned the envelope in his hands, scrutinizing it in the daylight that crept through bars.

Summoning courage, he tore into it, and peered inside. It looked like old photographs.

Gingerly sliding the images out into the light, his eyes widened, and his heart slowed. They were grainy, black, and white photos, a little out of focus, but it was clear what was going on.

He squinted closer, not quite believing as he sifted through the first images, then more and more. He began to shake, scrunching eyes tight shut like a little boy, not wanting to see any more.

Throwing his head back, open mouthed, he sucked a lungful of air and let out an agonizing wail. The photographs fell to the floor, he tore at his clothes, and dropped to his knees, a second wail bellowed.

Outside, a warden, hearing the cries, ran the length of the balcony to David's door, and pushed it open.

'What's going on in here?' he demanded.

David was on the floor, surrounded with pictures, head in hands, sobbing, rocking backwards and forwards, smashing his forehead against stone, over and over again, welcoming the pain. Crimson blood splashed floor, walls, and clothing, and trickled his face and hands.

David was back in his school dorm the day his mother died, smashing his head against a bloodstained wall.

'Nooooooooooo,' he cried.

The warden stepped closer, unsure what to do. Hovering over him, he looked down at the photographs and winced.

A scared little boy, with a mop of dark curly hair stood naked, surrounded by four older boys in a semi-circle; laughing, cocks in hand, aroused.

David had met Posh before.

The warden felt a whoosh of air, and a rustling. He looked around the small cell... what the hell was that?

Nothing.

Shaking his head, mumbling it was time he took some leave, he scooped up the images, and shoved them back into the envelope, leaving it on David's table.

He reached down and placed a consoling hand on David's heaving shoulder. In that moment, he felt a foreboding, an energy had been set in motion, one of the two men would now die. He shook his head, secretly hoping that it would be Posh.

At least David's victims deserved it. Whereas Posh was a cruel, entitled, narcissist, who had people killed for pleasure. Using his wealth and well-placed contacts to bend the system and get away with it. That wasn't fair.

Panicked David threw his upper body forward, waking out of the memory, and coming back to the present. The strap across his hips prevented his falling from the stretcher. The paramedic eased him back down with calming words.

'It's okay, you had a bad dream, you're in an ambulance, on your way to the hospital, lie back and try to relax.'

The ambulance trundled on through empty dark streets. Coming up to a junction, it turned on its siren.

CHAPTER 2

Heart pounding, clammy with sweat, a dark figure scurried to the end of an alleyway and peered out onto a road. Squinting his eyes, he searched for movement, lights, anything?

Nothing.

Holding his breath, he listened for footsteps, voices, a car engine.

Nothing.

With a relieved groan he fell back against the alley's wall and started to breathe again... thank fuck, I haven't been followed.

Wood-scorched air filled his lungs. Sweat trickled his lashes and stung his eyes, blurring vision. He wiped the back of his hand across his face, making it worse.

He noticed the white silk of his shirt cuff was stained in soot and blood. Nausea hit, his stomach lurched. He wasn't cut out for this.

Spinning to lean on the wall, and he bent over and retched hard, hacking up ash-ridden phlegm, standing legs apart, trying to keep expensive shoes out of the splash zone... for fucks sake!

The heaving echoed the passageway, the stench made him gag some more, he purged again and again until empty, and the final dregs of bile spat to the ground.

He re-checked the street, cuff-wiping his mouth, no longer caring about his designer shirt.

He closed his eyes trying to calm. It was okay, he hadn't been seen, no one knew he was there. They'd all been too busy containing the warehouse blaze, and hauling bodies, to notice him hiding, watching from a distance.

He'd seen ambulance crew haul three body bags... why three body bags?

He knew who two of them were, but who was the third?

It wasn't David, he'd received a text from him, and could see he was being cared for by paramedics. Michael was standing with Tara, consoling her. The only one left was BiJou, Michael's sister... could BiJou be dead?

The distant whoop-whoop of a siren pulled him out of his thoughts. He peered cautiously into the street; an angry orange glow burned in the distance, silhouetting the rooftops of derelict buildings against the night sky.

Fire-fighters were still struggling to get the fire under control, the whole area was a tinderbox nightmare, they'd be battling through the night.

The screeching siren grew louder, nearer, tearing into the silence, pumping his heart's rhythm.

He knew what he had to do.

Looking around, he checked his position, the ambulance had to pass this way, it was the only exit route from the industrial estate... they wouldn't be in a hurry if they were carrying dead, this has to be him.

Red brick walls lined both sides of the street, an overflowing builder's skip sat abandoned in the gutter, taking up half the road, narrowing traffic access to one lane... perfect.

He positioned himself a short distance in front of the skip and stepped back into shadows, hidden from view.

His timing had to be spot-on, he had one chance. He pulled out a black baseball cap and put it on, tugging the peak low over his face, he tucked hands into pockets and waited.

Blue flashing lights licked the walls of buildings at a junction, the hurtling ambulance then came into view, turning sharply into his street, driving straight towards him. Its engine revving, picking up speed, intent on getting to A&E as soon as possible.

As the truck neared, it hurled to the right, ready to overtake the skip.

Taking a deep breath, his heart hammering, he stepped into the road, stood in the glare of the headlamps waving hands for a fraction of a second and stepped back into the darkness.

The driver, caught unawares, slammed on his brakes, and yanked hard on the steering wheel trying to avoid the pedestrian. Swerving into the wall he spun the wheel back, but over compensated, and crashed into the skip.

Unrelenting, the ambulance slid forward, scraping its side. Metal on metal screeched the air, sparks flew, brakes pumped, wheels turned.

Crashing off the skip, it rammed up the kerb, tried to crawl a wall, flipped to its side, skidded across tarmac, and smashed into the opposing wall, its siren whining to a halt, as petrol ignited.

He ran to the mangled mess; steaming, hissing, lights flashing, wheels spinning, flames building... shit, shit, shit, that wasn't supposed to happen, I've killed him!

The back doors kicked open. David clambered out, dragging the unconscious paramedic,' and hollered at him.

'Get the driver out, then let's get the fuck out of here.'

CHAPTER 3

Franco's Penthouse, Chelsea, London

Numb with shock, Josie and Tara sat huddled in silence on one of Franco's sumptuous cream sofas. Vacant-eyed, they stared through panoramic windows onto London's vibrant nightlife. The city's splendor wasted on them.

Josie reached out and gently squeezed Tara's trembling hands.

'You're shaking hun, and look at you, covered in soot. We need to get you cleaned up.'

'What the hell just happened Josie?' whispered Tara, barely audible, gazing into the distance.

'David Howard happened, that's what, and it's not over yet. For fucks sake when will he stop?'

'I need to get away from here, I'm going back to Ireland for a while.'

'You've been going there a lot recently, what is it with that place?'

'Oonagh, she's been supporting me until I get back into work. Her last words were to go sort it out or forget him and move to Ireland.'

'Sort what out?'

'Him, David. I thought I could mend us, make us a family. But now its fucked, he may be dead, and it's my fault. We're not even able to call the hospital, he's supposed to be dead already.'

'Your aunt is lovely, I'm sure, but she doesn't know David. Besides, why would you want to be with him?' Josie stared at her friend, not understanding. 'Anyway, he won't be dead, Michael said it was only a scalpel wound, painful, but not life threatening.'

'I wanted us to be a family,' tears welled in Tara's eyes.

'What family? What is his hold over you, girl? The bastard tried to kill you, he ruined your relationship with Franco, lost you your job, and now you're a shadow of your former self,' Josie sighed, her friend needed help, David was toxic.

They stared in silence out the window.

Tara nodded, Josie was right, but she didn't know all the facts. No one did, except Oonagh.

London's hypnotic twinkling lights lined highways, speckled buildings, adorned bridges, and reflected in the deep, fast flowing, waters of the Thames.

They watched as busy ant-like pedestrians, impatient traffic, and lycra-clad cyclists obediently stop-started at street corners; the capital's rhythm conducted by red, amber, and green lights.

'Look at them T,' Josie nudged Tara. 'All busy with places to go and people to see. All having fun, except us. They obviously don't have a David in their lives, how did things get this bad?'

Snuggling closer, Josie scanned the opulent, spacious, room. The beautiful open plan seating area, and the elegant mahogany tabled dining area.

'You know, I don't envy Franco's fame and fortune, not one little bit. Living the cushioned life of a celebrity has its moments but perched up here looking down on normality must be lonely,' she looked over at Franco standing by the apartment's lift. 'I wonder if he ever feels trapped?'

Handsome Italian aristocrat and footballing legend Franco Rossellini's every move, on and off the pitch, had kept the gossip hungry press fueled for years. Owned by the public, his handsome face was splashed daily over every social network. His love life and talent, dissected and debated across continents.

Yet, he took it in his stride, seemingly unfazed by the commotion he caused. Ignoring it with a regal aloof wave of his hand, it came with the territory, and football was his territory, so what? Some called it arrogance; he called it confidence.

'He's looking a little trapped right now,' Josie grinned at Tara, trying to lighten the mood. 'He's about ready to explode, not a happy chappy.'

The two girls turned to look at him. Franco and his bodyguard, Michael, were standing together, watching an effervescent Seb politely usher two policemen into the lift.

Franco tense with anger. Michael stony-faced, disheveled, covered in bloodied dirt, absent mindedly pulling at bandaged hands.

'Thank you, officers,' Seb smiled. 'If we hear anything we'll let you know. Have a good night,' he bade the closing doors a flamboyant farewell.

Once safely out of sight, he looked up to the ceiling and smiled, shaking his head... yet again David Howard has managed to cause complete and utter chaos, the man is a legend.

'What the hell are you smiling at?' hissed Franco. 'It's not bloody funny Seb, we've just lied to the old Bill. We could go down for this.'

'Whoa! Keep your knickers on mate, it's not my fault,' Seb's open arms protesting innocence. 'This is Michael's call, remember? Not mine,' he sauntered to the bar and lined up five glasses. 'We're just following orders, mate. Drink anyone?'

Franco turned to Michael, pushing him back against the wall, his voice low.

'Why the hell are we lying to them? This could get way out of hand. I'm not happy Michael, and why the hell did you bring her here,' glaring in Tara's direction. 'Get rid of her, she's with David now.'

'I didn't know what else to do, she's in shock,' calmed Michael. 'Besides I want her here, we need to control the situation.'

Franco wasn't interested.

'She made her choice, get her out, I mean it Michael, I want nothing more to do with her or her bastard psycho boyfriend.'

He ran a nervous hand through his hair.

'Shit, between the two of them they're ruining my life. My agent is pulling out all the stops trying to keep this shit out of the papers and calm the board. He has the patience of a saint, no other player gives him this much grief,' he looked at Michael, shaking his head. 'The press are gonna have a field day. First Maria, now BiJou, my exes are dying off like flies,' he glanced over at Tara, wincing at the thought of anything happening to her. He turned back to Michael.

'Sorry, mate,' Franco calmed raising a hand. 'Bijou is your sister, I'm sorry for your loss.'

Michael closed his eyes, not able to think about it, he waved the subject aside. He didn't have time to mourn her now, he would do so later.

'It's okay, thanks boss, I should never have let her get involved with you,' he sighed. 'But since when have you worried about what the papers or fans say? You just keep delivering goals and they'll forgive you anything, they have short memories,' he glanced over at Tara and lowered his voice.

'You're in love with that girl, boss, look after her or you'll lose her too. David will pay, have no fear,' he checked his phone. 'Where the hell is Anton? I don't like this; if we don't all sing from the same hymn sheet our story is fucked.'

Seb, listening at the breakfast bar, answered him.

'The taxi dropped him off when we left the warehouse,' pouring whisky into tumblers. 'I've texted him to get his ass over here, that the police want to interview him, but he's got to speak with us first to get our story right.'

'You what?' snapped Michael. 'Well done, Einstein, let's hope things don't get complicated and the cops start seizing phones, and reading transcripts. Idiot! Don't ever put anything incriminating in texts, emails, or messages, for fuck's sake Seb!'

Michael shook his head, pulling at his bandages, 'bunch of fucking amateurs.'

Seb grimaced, 'err, sorry mate, I'm a photographer, not a criminal, I'm not used to all this cloak and dagger stuff. We've done nothing wrong. We've told the cops everything, except about David being there, cos he's supposed to be already dead. Apart from that we've told them the truth, that we got messages from BiJou, we turned up, found Helen and Harry dead. You and Tara arrived, and we did a runner back here to get away from her. Who knows who the ambulance crew took away, a tramp, a warehouse worker, another of BiJou's victims? And with the ambulance crew not being able to ID anyone, and the firemen too busy to notice, maybe they won't get to find out. As far as they're concerned, we were about to be the victims of a deranged killer, we got away, the killer died under a falling beam, case closed.'

'DNA,' whispered Tara. 'His blood would have been everywhere.'

'The officer said the warehouse and vehicle had fire damage, maybe they won't get any,' offered Seb. 'And why bother looking if the killer is dead. I tell you, it's case closed.'

Franco had heard enough, he spun round, giving Tara a look of disgust. She flinched.

'It's because of you that we're all in this mess, it's you he wants, you he's always wanted.'

Tara stared at him, tears welling, he was right.

'I shouldn't be here,' she heaved herself up off the sofa.

Josie grabbed her elbow and pulled her back down.

'Oh no you don't.' Josie shouted. 'Tell her Michael, she's staying here until we decide what to do next, it's not safe, we need to stick together.'

'But he's right,' Tara interrupted. 'It's all my fault, I keep dragging you lot into my mess,' she got up again.

'Sit,' barked Michael.

She sat.

'How the hell did they lose him in the first place?' spat Franco.

'You heard the cops,' offered Michael. 'The ambulance crashed, and the mystery patient escaped, but he won't get far, he's wounded, or he could be dead in a gutter somewhere.'

Michael paced the room, remembering the moment the crushing beam fell on his sister, she'd thrown herself across David's body, protecting him, risking her life for his.

What was it about David, how did he have a hold over people? He pushed the thought back, he needed to concentrate, to make up for what she'd done, and keep his boss out of trouble, out of the papers.

He checked his phone. 'Where the fuck is Anton?'

'Why couldn't we tell them who he was,' asked Josie. 'We're gonna get done for withholding information,'

Her eyes followed Michael, she was concerned for him, he'd just lost his sister. Okay, she was a killer, but she was his blood, he seemed not to be acknowledging it, that wasn't healthy.

She wanted to reach out and hold him. They hadn't been seeing each other for long, she was still learning about him, but she cared for him deeply. She wanted it to work. He was the only man she'd met that had treated her respect, even though he knew she was a hooker, a high-class hooker, but a hooker.

The doorbell sounded; the gang froze. All eyes went to Michael.

'I dunno,' he shrugged his shoulders. 'Maybe the police have more questions.'

They watched in silence as he checked the intercom screen; Anton's cheeky face peered up into the camera. He pressed the entry button and grumbled into the speaker.

'Where the bloody hell have you been?' turning to the room he nodded. 'It's Anton, about bleedin time. Now we're all here, we can talk. Decide what we do next.'

The lift mechanism whirred as it trundled to the top floor.

'Okay, so let me get this right, Michael,' Seb walked the room, handing out whisky tumblers.

'David's sister Helen, and her date, Harry, are dead, dissected in a warehouse by BiJou, aka Vanessa Butler, your sister, Franco's ex, because she had a crush on David from school and wanted to impress him by deleting names on his revenge list,' he scratched his head, pulling the strands together.

'You couldn't make this shit up,' Josie shook her head. Seb continued.

'Then David started beating up BiJou for killing his sister. You laid into him, defending her. The warehouse caught fire. You stabbed David in self-defense. BiJou tried to save him and died under a falling beam. You and Tara dragged the bodies out of the fire. He was taken off in an ambulance, the ambulance crashed, and he escaped, with no one knowing he was even there. As far as police are concerned, he allegedly died in a previous fire whilst on the run from prison.'

He took a sip of whiskey and continued.

'Leaving us back at square one, hiding from a nutter. A man who was abused at school, has a kill list of those who hurt him, with our names on it, because we got him arrested for trying to kill our friend Tara, for not fancying him at school.'

'Yep, that about sums it up,' Michael sipped his drink. The noise of the ascending lift caught his attention, it wasn't normally that loud with one person in it.

'That bastard has nine lives,' spat Franco, giving Tara a side long look. 'And we are protecting him, why?'

'Damage control,' Michael sighed. 'Your name need not be involved; your career has been bombarded enough with bad press. The police think he's dead, and I will sort it.'

The lift doors opened all heads turned as Anton stepped nervously into the room, followed by David, pointing a gun to the back of his head.

'Honey I'm home,' he sing-songed beaming at Tara, his shirt torn, covered in soot and blood.

CHAPTER 4

'Did you miss me?' David stood smiling, taking in the scene. All faces on him, mouths open.

Silence.

'What? Not even a little?'

'I'm sorry, s s s so sorry... he... he made me,' Anton stuttered, nervously twiddling with a pink crystal ring on his pinky finger. 'He's going to...'

'Ok everyone,' interrupted David. 'You know how this goes; you've seen the movies. Put your hands on your head, where I can see them.'

He took a step forward and punched Anton smartly in the center of his back, pushing him to the ground. Anton stumbled and slid spread-eagled across the floor. David calmly followed and stood astride his whimpering body.

He smiled to the room, looked down between his legs, and pointed the gun directly at Anton's head.

'Now then, let's get some order in the house. Michael, gimme your gun, and that sweet little knife from your ankle strap, slide them along the floor towards me. Gently does it, no games. The rest of you line up against the window, facing outwards, take in the beautiful view. No turning around. Do it! Now! Or pretty little hairdresser boy here, dies.'

Anton squealed with fear. Seb, Josie, and Tara stepped timidly to the window, hands on their heads, their backs to the room.

Franco stood his ground fuming.

'Now footy boy!' barked David. 'Or the hairdresser gets it, and who's gonna make you look pretty then?'

He spun a look at Michael.

'Michael, are you deaf?'

Michael begrudgingly pulled out the gun and knife, bent low and slid them across the floor to David. He yanked Franco's arm and dragged him to join the others.

'I am s s s so sorry,' sobbed Anton. 'He came out of nowhere, forgive me,' the pungent smell of urine wafted the air; a small puddle began to curl around David's shoe.

'Oh dear, Anton, never mind, accidents happen,' David chided, stepping out of the puddle, yanking Anton to his feet, digging the gun in his back, and pushing him forward.

'Go join them.'

Anton fell, stumbling headfirst, grateful to get away. Getting his balance, he ran across the marble floor to join the others. Josie put an arm around him, holding him steady.

David snatched up Michael's revolver and put the knife in his pocket.

'Face the window. Now!' he barked, waving the two guns menacingly, trying to ignore the pain in his chest.

The gang turned, hands over heads, to face the twinkly night skyline, and David's reflection in the glass, as he came up behind them.

'Tara, take their mobiles.'

'What are you going to do?' she asked, turning towards him.

'Move, Tara, or Franco is going out the window first, we're eight floors up, it could get a little messy.'

'Okay, okay, but you said you wouldn't do this, that you'd leave them alone, you promised,' she walked the line, collecting their phones. Franco's was on the coffee table, she gathered it up. 'These guys are innocent; this is between you and me.'

Standing in front of him, she held out the phones and looked into his face, he was nervous and in pain. His shirt fell open exposing a sodden, blood-red bandage strapped to his chest, droplets of blood pooled at his feet.

'Get me eight belts and ties,' he ignored her shocked face. 'And something to wear from Franco's closet, and grab a first aid kit, the pussy is bound to have one somewhere.'

'Fuck you David,' spat Franco, looking over his shoulder. 'You'll never get away with this, the police are out there looking for you, you won't escape this time.'

'Bollocks, they think I'm dead. And if I know Michael, he would've told you to tell them nothing about me. Am I right Michael?'

Michael stared straight ahead, glaring at David's reflection in the glass.

'Sorry about BiJou, Michael,' David sighed. 'She was a good kid, a little psychotic, but a good kid at heart. She shouldn't have done Helen, that was my job. But hey, she was only trying to help.'

'How could you want to kill Helen,' whispered Josie. 'She was your own flesh and blood for gods' sake?'

David scoffed at her and shook his head.

'She wasn't actually, that was the problem,' he grimaced.

'What? You're such a liar, David Howard,' Josie shook her head. David walked up behind her.

'Once upon a time,' he whispered in a children's storyteller voice. 'A mummy and daddy dreamed of having a perfect little family, but they couldn't have kids, so they adopted a little girl who was the apple of their eye. Until a miracle happened, and mummy gave birth to a little boy. Then the little girl got sidelined, and the little boy was mummy's favorite. His arrival was the worst thing that could ever have happened to both of them. The girl needed constant affirmation, and the boy needed protection from his evil, bullying, jealous, sister. Then mummy and daddy died, leaving them a whole load of cash. Then they became totally fucked up and started planning things together. Careful what you wish for.'

'Helen was adopted?' asked Tara, glancing towards Josie. Josie shrugged.

'Yeah, didn't she say? No, I guess not,' he grinned. 'She liked secrets, now get me the stuff.'

Tara stood staring at him, still holding the phones.

'Do it, now!' he barked, waving a gun at her, pain streaking his face, he didn't have time for this. 'Now!'

Anton squeaked with nerves.

'And get Anton another pair of trousers.'

Tara chucked the phones on the coffee table and ran into the bedroom. Seb looked back over his shoulder at David; he caught the squint of agony cross his face.

'You don't have to do this mate,' Seb soothed.

'Oh, but I do, it's one last thing, then I'm done. But thank you Seb, you were fun to play with, and a good fuck, a fast learner, I was impressed. You took to sucking my cock like a duck to water, the headmaster would've loved you, except he preferred boys that didn't enjoy it.'

Seb flushed with pride, then caught Michael and Franco glaring at him with disgust, he shrugged at them.

'What can I say? Whether you like David or not, he's hot as fuck in the sack.'

They shook their heads.

David giggled.

'Why, thank you Seb, that's the nicest thing anyone's said to me, good at sex, I should be, I've been doing it since the age of seven.'

Silence.

Josie lowered her head and shook it. His headmaster and priest had a lot to answer for. She felt sorry for him.

Anton shuffled from one foot to the other.

'Can we put our hands down, it's tiring standing like this,' he whined, uncomfortable in wet trousers.

David analyzed them standing in a row, framed against London's dazzling night sky. Anyone looking up from the street below would wonder what the hell they were doing. Hands on head looked suspicious. He didn't want the cavalry here just yet.

'Yeah, drop the hands, sit crossed legged on the floor, stay facing the window, no turning around. Take off your shoes and throw them back here, don't get any funny ideas, I have two guns on you, I'll kill at least two of you before you get to me, I'll aim at the women first.'

'You're gonna kill us anyway,' muttered Franco, dropping to the ground.

David walked up behind him and rested a gun on his shoulder.

'Not necessarily, my priorities may be changing.'

Looking down on Franco's head, David tenderly stroked his hair with the butt of the second gun. Franco yanked his head away, annoyed, glaring up at his reflection.

'It depends how good you are. Thank you, Franco, for taking care of Tara for me, I know you loved her, I used to watch you together, you can't fake that sort of passion. Although it killed me to watch, I understood. You loved her nearly as much as I did. You've been a bit unlucky with your women, haven't you. Two ex's dead and now one choosing me over you.'

'Fuck off,' spat Franco.

David chuckled, immediately regretting it, his body flinched with pain. He walked the row, blood droplets following him, splashing star-spangled patterns on white marble.

He meandered past Josie, Seb, Anton, and stopped at Michael, prodding him roughly in the back of his head with the gun muzzle. Michael's torso fell forward, hitting his head on the glass with a thud.

'You didn't like that Maria bird did you Michael. She got right on your tits. If I didn't know better, I would've said you had something to do with her death. Very convenient, waving her off and introducing your sweet little sister.'

'I was doing the boss a favor,' barked Michael. 'He needed someone better, BiJou...Vanessa, was perfect, all the fun with no pressure. How was I to know you'd gotten your teeth into her first, you bastard.'

'Who else was she to turn to when you did a runner from school Michael, I was her only friend. You had to know the headmaster would take your slap in the face out on someone. He didn't even like girls, but the sadistic bastard had some fun with her. We made sure his fun stopped, didn't we Michael. You and I.'

Michael remained silent, staring straight ahead. Josie peered over at him.

'What does he mean Michael?'

'Nothing, he's winding me up.'

Tara came into the room, arms full of clothes, belts, and a first aid box. She took in the scene; at least he hadn't killed anyone yet.

'What now?' she asked.

'Give me the clothes and tie their wrists and ankles together with the belts, tight,' he warned. 'I'll check them. Then we'll have a chat, I have a proposition, you might even like it.'

CHAPTER 5

Tara got to work. Franco and Michael glared with anger, Josie and Anton remained quiet, Seb found it all a little amusing. He'd always found David exhilarating; from the first time they'd met at school, David had his heart.

'I'm sorry about this,' Tara muttered, threading leather through a buckle at Franco's feet. 'I am just gonna do as he says and get him out of here. You're safest this way, trust me. Sorry.'

'Stop worrying Tara,' David soothed, following her, walking the line. 'If they do as they're told, no one will get hurt, I'm changing, remember? That's what you asked of me. I'm keeping my promise, I'm going to stop all this,' he pulled at belted wrists and ankles, checking their tension. 'But first my proposal.'

'What bloody proposal,' pleaded Tara. 'For god's sake David, you're losing blood, the police are investigating, these guys are not going to sit quiet for long. We don't have time to play games, let's get the hell out of here, now.'

'You heard the girl, get out of here,' barked Franco, yanking his wrists from David's grip.

'Hear me out footy boy, you may like this, you may like it a lot,' David smiled.

'I've got a proposal for you,' spat Michael. 'Let us go, and I'll give you an hours start before I catch up and slice you into little pieces. You do realize this is six against one, a few poxy belts aren't going to stop us.'

'He's got guns, Michael,' whimpered Anton. 'Please don't piss him off, I'm too young to die,' kissing his pinky ring for luck.

'If they're loaded,' Michael scoffed. 'Cos one of them is mine, and it's not.'

David cocked his head to the side, giving Michael a patronizing smile.

'Michael, Michael, Michael, such anger, such bitterness, you really must learn how to get it out of your system. This isn't loaded, eh?'

David raised the gun, eyed Michael's face in the window's reflection, aimed, and fired.

CRACK.

The noise deafened. The gang ducked heads, expecting Michael's brains, and a wall of crashing glass, to splatter them.

Anton and Josie screamed. Tara lunged at David's firing arm, pushing it up towards the ceiling.

'What the fuck are you doing?'

David laughed, although noisy, the bullet made only a small dent in the window, leaving a tiny circle of white spider's web fractures.

The gang raised their heads, sheepishly. The glass was bulletproof.

'Missed,' sneered Michael. 'Like playing the bully, do you? I'm not scared of you David.'

'Oh yes you are because I know your dirty little secrets. Next time I'll aim for your head, not your reflection,' he swaggered to the sofa and flopped into it, wincing with pain. 'Not loaded you said, you always were a dirty little liar Patrick Michael Butler,'

He surveyed his line of captives.

'So, people, have I got your attention?' he asked.

'Get it over with,' spat Franco.

Tara picked up the first aid box and sat beside David. Slowly peeling back the blood-soaked shirt, she set about dressing his wound. Franco watched her reflection in the window, biting back anger. His eyes met David's, calm, cold, in control. Franco turned away.

Smiling, David lounged back on the sofa, legs open, chest exposed, covered in blood, a gun in each hand resting on cushions either side of him.

Seb stared longingly... even wounded he looked cool as a cucumber, and sexy as hell,

Michael caught his stare, and shook his head, would Seb ever learn.

'I need the loo,' whimpered Anton.

'Shut up!' shouted the gang in unison.

'You've just been,' barked Michael. 'All over the floor. David, get on with it, what do you want?'

'I have five people I want you to help me kill,' announced David.

Silence.

The gang looked at each other.

'You have to be joking,' scoffed Franco.

'Nope.'

The gang stared open-mouthed. And Tara absentmindedly pressed a little too hard cleaning David's wound. He winced with pain.

'Ouch, for fucks sake Tara, be careful.'

'Sorry... but you are a joking, right?'

'Yes, I'm joking. I'm trying to give up all the killing shit. However, I do have one person I need you to help me with. He won't die, just be annihilated.'

Silence.

'What do you mean by annihilated?' asked Josie, not sure she was going to like the answer.

'Destroyed, obliterated, ruined, shattered, destroyed, broken, fucked-up, up the swanny without a paddle.'

Silence.

David continued.

'I know I am not your favorite person, I've been bad, I let myself get a little carried away with the penance list thing, it was stupid of me. I did a deal with the devil because god wasn't listening. I was seven for heaven's sake. My kind of justice didn't make me feel any better, so now I'm trying to make amends and do it the right way.'

'A little carried away,' mocked Franco. 'You stalked, drugged, raped, dissected, murdered, multiple victims, that's a little more than 'a little carried away' for fucks sake, what planet are you on? You're sick. Tara get him out of here.'

'The stalking, drugging and sex stuff wasn't all that bad,' David's eyes twinkled. 'It was foreplay, on the whole, I think people enjoyed it, some begged me for more in fact.'

Tara and Seb blushed. Michael looked away in disgust. David continued.

'And the dissection and murder stuff, well, that was justice, I was just doing a job, cleaning up baddies.'

'What about the prison guard, the guy you ran away with, the gamekeeper and his wife? They were all innocents,' spat Michael.

'Sorry about pretending to be gamekeeper Derek,' David caught Anton's eye in the reflection. 'But you must admit, it was quite a good disguise, the mask was brilliant, it had you all fooled,' he turned to Michael.

'I also killed a few others, in my opinion, they all deserved it. The teachers and priest were rapists, my nanny ripped off pensioner's savings before she got the job with me. The prison guard was a bullying bastard, a thief, a rapist, no one will mourn his passing. The warden I escaped custody with broke the law with me, admitted he didn't totally deserve to die. The gamekeeper and his wife were child traffickers, that's why I chose them. You'd be surprised at how many shits there are out there, hiding in plain sight. If I take a few out, I'm doing you lot a favor.'

Silence.

'Why the change?' asked Josie.

'Michael and Tara took me back to where it all began, to the headmaster's study, at Heddington Hall. An exorcism if you will, it freaked me out. But it made me realize that it wasn't my fault, I was just a little boy trying to survive the best I could, the adults made me that way.'

They stared at him blankly. He nodded.

'Look, I know it sounds crazy, and I know I'm going to hell, but I want to do this last bad person before I die. I'll still be an evil little shit, but I'll try to avoid killing anyone, Look at it as doing good works, dishing out karma, correcting the little shits that slip through god's fingers, the ones that the police, governments, parents, teachers, family, are all too busy, or too stupid to see. I think ridding the world of a few kiddy-fiddlers deserves a medal, don't you? It's what I like to call, my good-bad stuff.'

'Says the man with guns at our backs,' laughed Franco.

'I'm not gonna kill you with them, to be honest, they're not my favored weapons of choice, I prefer knives. But I will harm you with them if you step out of line before I've finished here. I'm changing, I've told you. This last job is my swan song.'

'You're a saint now, a savior, is that it?' teased Franco. 'You're more fucked up than I thought. Send for the men in white coats Tara, your boyfriend's a nutter, get him out of here.'

David closed his eyes and ground his jaw tight shut, he couldn't keep it in, they wanted to understand, he'd tell them.

'Fucked up! Fucked up!' he bellowed, leaning forward on the couch, pushing Tara aside, pointing both guns at Franco's back, arms stretched, hands shaking.

Their eyes locked in the reflection.

The others gasped in terror.

'Oh yes, I'm fucked up alright,' David spat. 'I've been fucked up from the age of seven, fucked up the arse by a dirty old perv, fucked up the arse whilst a priest watched, fucked up every day for ten years,' spittle ran from his mouth as he shouted the vile, pained words he barely ever admitted, his voice getting louder and louder.

Michael closed his eyes tight, trying not to listen.

'Fucked up whilst grown-ups ignored my cries, ignored my bruises, my depression, the self-harm, the signs, they turned their backs. I was just a little boy that wanted to be loved, accepted. I did as I was told, trying to get through the day without being whipped, without being fucked, without having a dirty old man's spunk in my face or up my arse. Ten years of hell, ten years of being fucked up, mentally and physically, it fucking hurts!'

He stood up, screaming at the line of backs in front of him.

'Do you know what that does to a boy, or to the man he becomes? Do you? Do you? You have no idea. Yes, I am fucked up, Franco. Bully for you, for noticing!'

Silence.

Michael's shoulders began to shake as he lowered his head and silently cried into his hunched chest, unnoticed.

David glared at the back of their heads, as the hushed room, heavy with awkward silence, closed in on him. He wasn't used to saying the words out loud, to the honesty, the indoctrinated shame and fear had kept it buried.

Embarrassed, he hurriedly cuff-wiped the spit from his mouth, the tears from his eyes, and sat back down, taking deep long breaths trying to gain composure.

Tara rested a hand on his thigh. Her eyes watering, biting her lip, not sure what to do or say.

Franco looked to the ground in part shame and part confusion. David saw the movement and relaxed the guns to his sides, his voice a whisper, he carried on.

'You were lucky Franco, you probably had a good childhood, with kind loving parents and supportive teachers and friends. You had someone to turn to. Do you know what it does to a child's soul, knowing that you're alone in the world, that everyone is bigger than you, stronger than you, that the ones you were told to confide in and obey, you can't trust. That you are surrounded by bad people who want to hurt you, that your pain gives them pleasure, that if they think so little of you, you must be of no value, just worthless meat for them to chuck around, poke, prod, manhandle, do with as they wish?'

Michael fell forward, into the fetal position, doubling up with pain, in whimpering groan.

David carried on.

'Do you know what it feels like to dread the sound of the school bell, knowing it's 'special' time. To retch at the smell of their sweat, at their rancid taste, at the feel of their clammy hands on your body, the sound of their voices? The pain, the shame, the fear overwhelms you. At the age of seven you crave suicide; you just don't know how. Oh yes Franco, I am fucked up, but it wasn't my fault.'

'Nor ours,' quipped Franco.

Michael's body slumped, he rolled onto his side and let out a loud wail.

'Stop. Stop. Stop,' he screamed, pulling tighter into the fetal position. 'Please stop.'

Josie scooted over to him.

'Michael, what's wrong?'

'No, I won't stop,' whispered David. 'It doesn't stop, It stays with you for life. There is one more person that we need to fix Michael, and these guys are going to help us, you may remember him.'

CHAPTER 6

The gang sat in anxious silence as Michael's sobs gradually subsided, they weren't used to seeing the big man fall apart. He'd been their strong rock from the start.

Josie lay alongside him, spooning him. She snuggled up close, gently kissing the back of his neck, softly whispering, soothing.

'It's okay Michael, it's going to be okay.'

David sat, staring out over their heads, watching the shimmering night sky.

Tara knelt between his legs, cleaning and bandaging his chest. He winced as she pressed a bandage into place; his head fell forwards against hers.

'How can you want me when I am soiled,' he whispered into her hair.

'Shhh,' she leaned closer, pinning a final bandage into place.

'How can you kiss me when you know where my mouth has been, how can you sleep next to me when you know what my nightmares are? How can you let me touch you when you know that my hands have taken lives, I nearly took yours. It's not exactly attractive, is it?'

Tara sighed, took his face in her hands, and pulled him closer.

'No, it isn't. I don't pretend to understand, but I do know that there is no way I'm going to let those bastards steal any more from us, or anyone else, enough already. Fuck'em, they're not going to win, I'm gonna enjoy what time I have left with you. Then, when I pop my clogs and go to heaven, I'm gonna visit hell on a day release, and cut their balls off with a very blunt knife. I'll wear gloves of course, am so not gonna touch their manky shriveled up stinky penis skin.'

'Tut, tut,' he smiled. 'Then you'll be just like me, revenge is not as sweet as expected you know, beware. I love you Tara Warr'.

Franco winced at hearing the line, it used to be his.

'I need the loo,' shouted Anton, getting frantic. 'I know this is a sensitive time and all that but puhlease,' his voice small. 'It's a number two, for heaven's sake!'

'Untie him Tara, go in with him,' sighed David.

'You are joking,' Tara looked at him aghast. 'There is no way I'm gonna sit and watch a bloke do a number two. I'll wait outside.'

Tara jumped up and walked over to Anton, untying his buckles. She caught Josie's eye, nodding at Michael she asked, 'is he okay, does he need a drink?'

'Tara,' barked David. 'This is not a bleedin drinks party, do as you were asked and take Anton for a shit.'

Tara gave him a 'fuck-you' glare.

David turned to Michael and shouted. 'Michael, Michael, get the fuck up, enough poncing around feeling sorry for yourself, get over it. We have business to discuss, we're gonna stop it happening to others, we're readdress the balance. We're gonna stand up for us as little boys, we're gonna stand up to them!'

Michael ignored him. David tried another tactic.

'Sit up Butler!' he bellowed in the headmaster's caustic voice. 'You know what happens to bad boys, especially my 'special' bad boys.'

Michael's head spun to look at him, the sobbing stopped, he sprung up onto his feet, teetering within the belt at his ankles. Seething with anger,

'Don't you fucking dare bring him in here David, don't you fucking dare.'

'Well, help me put him, and men like him, to bed, Michael,' soothed David, stepping over to him. 'Help me with this one last job, then I'll be out of your hair for good, promise. You and I are fucked, granted. But it's time to stop feeling sorry for ourselves and help stop it happening again,' he leaned in close, for only Michael to hear.

'Kids are being entered as we speak, Michael, entered... do you remember what that feels like, do you? This lot have no fucking idea, thank God, but we do, it's our duty to stop it, doing nothing is enabling.'

Michael stared at him, hating him for bringing back the memories, he'd tried so long to bury. The others stared at them trying to hear what they were saying. Exhausted, David sat back down on the sofa.

'I've gotta go, puhlease!' pleaded Anton, stamping his foot.

Tara pulled him to his feet and walked him down the hallway to the bathroom. passing him a pair of clean trousers through the door.

Anton waved her away.

'Stand well back honey, out of hearing distance, I can't have someone listening to my plops, back, back!' he waved frantically, pushing her further from the door.

'This is so humiliating, put your hands over your ears, sing 'Dancing Queen', and hold your nose. Where's the air freshener?'

'For god's sake just get on with it, Anton,' Tara wanted to get back to the others.

'If we do what you want,' Josie asked. 'Will you leave us alone?' she tugged at Michael to sit down beside her. 'We won't get in trouble, and we don't have to kill anyone, right?'

Seb and Franco slid around to face David, all four leaned back against the window, awaiting his answer.

'Yes, I'll leave you alone, and no you won't have to kill.'

Silence. They looked at him.

'But I may,' he sneered.

Silence.

'Only joking,' he grinned. 'You lot, honestly, you're so easy to tease.'

Silence.

BUZZ, BUZZ, BUZZ.... BUZZ, BUZZ, BUZZ.

The insistent doorbell interrupted the peace, making the gang jump and look anxiously from one to the other. Had the police come back?

'Oh, that's for me,' mumbled David, pulling himself gingerly off the couch, clutching his chest, keeping the guns trained on his victims, he walking to the intercom. He pressed the entry button and listened to the lift make its way down eight floors to collect the guest.

'Anton!' he shouted. 'Get back here and clean this piss up, we have a guest. Tara, put the kettle on, it's gonna be a long night.'

CHAPTER 7

The lift doors opened, a tall, dark, beautiful, well-manicured, woman, oozing sex appeal, authority, and fear, stepped briskly into the room, dressed in impossibly high shoes, smart black power-suit, and cream silk blouse.

She scanned the room, and marched, heels clicking, to the coffee table. Swept the first aid box and magazines off its surface, opened her briefcase, and dropped six files onto it, landing with a loud slap. She picked up the phones and put them in the briefcase.

'Hey, what the...' protested Franco. 'Who the hell do you think....'

'Our first offender, Knute Bates,' she announced in a clipped, British, regimental tone, ignoring Franco.

'About time, where've you been?' David pulled off his bloodied top and tossed it aside, delving into the pile of clothes Tara left for him, he fished out a white shirt.

Franco groaned; it was one of his favorites. Anton entered the room wearing a pair of his jogging pants and hoody, he groaned again.

Tara joined Anton, handing him a mop and bucket, they both stood still in their tracks admiring David's ribbed, half naked body.

Seb grinned... beaten up, dragged from a burning building, survived a car crash, oozing blood from a stab wound, and the boy still has 'it'.

They watched in silence as David gingerly pulled arms into shirtsleeves, wincing with pain. He flashed a grin at the woman.

'Everyone, meet Moira, Moira Hinky. Miss Hinky is going to help us with our little plan,'

'Woah, holdup, we haven't got a plan, we haven't agreed to anything yet,' barked Franco. 'Who the hell is this woman and what is she doing in my apartment, get her out, this is not fucking Piccadilly Circus.'

Moira spun around, searching out the face of the voice, her cold cat-like eyes landed on Franco. She lowered her chin and gave him a hard long stare, checking him out, taking a few beats too long, she liked what she saw. Franco felt uncomfortable. Her sexuality palpable.

'The footballer, I presume,' she smiled. 'May I remind you Mister Rossellini that you're in no position to offer instruction. I think you will agree that Mister Howard is dominating proceedings, I suggest you shut the fuck up and listen,' she pulled a small handgun from the side pocket of her briefcase and pointed it at him.

'Or I will have to dispose of you, one less annoyance to deal with is fine by me.'

Franco was gob smacked; it was all he could do to return her stare. He wasn't used to ladies pointing guns at him. He hated to admit it, but she was very, very sexy.

'Down girl,' smiled David, admiring her. 'I haven't had a chance to instruct them yet,' with a wave of his hand pointing to Franco's expensive dining table at the end of the open plan room. 'Ok boys and girls, hop over to the dining area, that'll be our new HQ. Get seated, it's time for your first briefing.'

Anton, cleaning up his puddle, hand on hip, leaned on the mop, and gushed.

'Ooh! How exciting, a briefing, it's like being at MI5, but without the harsh lighting. I'll be mother, tea and biscuits anyone? During war time the British army survived on a good old cuppa you know,' he squinted at David.

'And you don't need to tie me up again, even though I haven't forgiven you yet, I promise I'll be good, as long as you keep those pesky little guns pointed well away from me. I'm allergic, I get hives, it's not attractive.'

'One problem Einstein,' Seb nodded to David, then his ankles. 'We're tied up, remember?'

'Have you forgotten how to hop Seb? Ahh, how sad, and you were such a good bed-hopper at school,' David gave him a slow smile, Seb blushed.

'Nice shoes though,' David looked down at Seb's purple loafers. Seb wriggled them. 'Thanks, Italian leather, Camden market.'

David turned to Tara.

'Unbuckle them, take them to the table and strap their ankles to chairs, and no funny business, Moira is an excellent shot.'

'Oh, please do try to escape,' smiled Moira. 'Moving targets are my thing,' she circled the dining table, placing files at each seat.

David sat patiently waiting at the head of the table, as Tara helped the gang to their places. Anton dispensed tea and energy bars; Franco didn't have any biscuits in his kitchen. Moira stood behind David, gun in hand.

'Okay, boys and girls,' David barked. 'Open your files and meet Knute Bates or Master Bates, as some like to call him.'

Seb sniggered.

'Do you know him?' inquired Anton innocently.

Seb thought about explaining masturbates, and decided against it, he shook his head.

'No, I don't know him.'

'Then what's so funny?' quizzed Anton.

'Get on with it,' barked Moira.

The gang, wrists shackled, clumsily opened their files. A headshot photograph of a distinguished looking gentleman beamed up at them. Michael tried to hide his shock.

'That's Lord Bates, he's an ex-member of parliament,' muttered Tara.

'And an ex-con,' corrected David. 'We knew him as Posh.'

'Why are we looking at him?' asked Seb, confused.

'You're going to help me get to him.'

'You are joking,' scoffed Seb. 'Why the hell would we do that?'

'Because I said so. He's the final name on my list.'

'I am not killing anyone honey,' whispered Anton, keeping his voice down, leaning in low across the table, peeking over his shoulder in fear of being recorded. 'It's not my thing hun, besides he seems a very nice chap.'

David laughed and looked back at Moira, raising an eyebrow. They both smiled. Anton stood his ground.

'I know he was inside for tax fraud or something, but he's done his time. He does a lot for charity, he's always on the telly, isn't his daughter that singer, Izi, or Dizzy or something. She's forever in the papers, and he owns a football club, doesn't he?'

'Lonited FC,' muttered Franco. 'Bottom of first division.'

'Go to the next pages,' ordered Moira. 'You'll see a biography, a list of his contacts, companies, properties, charitable endeavors, and future projects, then, on the back page you'll see what he likes to do in his spare time, his hobby.'

Curious, the gang flicked straight to the back page, and stared in horror at two pages of photographs showing Bates in various stages of undress with children, some alone, some with a group of men.

Josie placed a hand to her mouth.

Tara closed her eyes.

Franco recoiled in disgust.

Seb bit his bottom lip.

Anton fainted.

Michael slammed the file shut and shunted it to the middle of the table.

'No, David. No!'

CHAPTER 8

Backstage at the Chelsea Arena

Knute Bates strutted the maze of corridors, his beady eyes tracking signs to the dressing rooms, as he pushed bustling crew, dancers, and musicians out of his way.

He was shadowed by two smartly dressed, suited, and booted hench-men, trying to look like business associates, but failing miserably.

'Sir, sir. You can't come back here,' a clip-board hugging, head-phoned, producer charged towards him.

The show was over, the stage was being dismantled. Busy roadies darted around the four men, pushing heavy boxed equipment, and securing cables, packing up ready for the final show of their tour.

The evening had been a great success, elated yet tired dancers, backing singers, and musicians, patted each other on the back as they made their way home.

'Sir, sir!' shouted the annoyed producer, running backwards, struggling to remain in front of the men. 'This is a private area,'

'Shut the fuck up, I am here to see my daughter, your boss!'

'But she left strict instructions not to be disturbed,' stuttered the producer, nervously eyeing the bulging jackets of the suits, they clearly had guns. 'She's tired after the show.'

They arrived at Izi's dressing room, a 'Do Not Disturb' sign dangled from the door handle. Knute banged loudly on the cheap chipboard.

'Isadora, this is your father, open up, I want to congratulate you on a splendid show,' he bellowed.

No answer.

Knute rocked from one foot to the other, his suits looked down in silence, Lord Bates was not a man to be kept waiting.

'Isadora!' he bellowed.

Silence.

'She doesn't want to be disturbed sir,' repeated the producer. 'Look, my name is Kyle, I work with Izi, Isadora. I'll tell her you called and...'

'Fuck off,' barked Knute, he tried the door handle, it was locked.

'Isadora!'

He stepped back, kicked the flimsy door open, and barged into the room.

'Why the hell don't you....'

Izi Bates was naked, bent over a vanity table, being taken from behind by an Adonis of a security guard. She let out a loud primal scream, as if in the throes of coming, as she watched her father's horrified face in the reflection of the lightbulb framed mirror.

Knute fell back against the doorframe, turning away in disgust.

'For fucks sake Isadora, what the hell do you think you are doing?'

He reached back and pushed the gawping suits and producer out of the room, slamming the door behind them.

'I'm fucking, father, what does it look like? Ahhh... that's it... harder, harder... fuck me... fuck me,' she wailed, as the guard continued to pump, ignoring the red-faced man standing over them.

'Stop... right now!'

The guard, on the edge of coming, looked back over his shoulder, and recognized the intruder, he started to slow up.

'Or what father? Or what? Are you jealous?'

'Get him out of here,' Knute barked.

The guard, looked to Izi's face in the mirror for guidance.

'Fuck harder,' she smiled at him. 'What did you say your name was?'

'I didn't,' he said.

She laughed, easing her hips backwards and forwards over the guard's engorged cock, encouraging his rhythm.

'Come on, fuck,' she shouted.

Unable to resist the guard joined in, pumping hard, pulling her hips onto him, building up speed.

Knute stared at the scene, fuming with anger, trying to keep control through clenched fists and gritted teeth.

Izi enjoyed his reaction, licked her lips in defiance and pumped faster, louder, and harder, sweat glistening her body.

'What's wrong daddy?' she gasped. 'Am I not doing it right?'

The guard stared hard at Knute's face in the mirror's reflection.

Knute closed his eyes, took in a deep breath, regained control, and stepped out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

'We're a little old for you, don't ya think?' his daughter shouted after him.

The guard continued, increasing momentum. Izi stared blankly into the mirror, tears welling, wincing with pain, waiting for him to come, willing for it to be over. Until she could bear no more.

'Stop!' she shouted, pushing back against him. 'Get out. Get out!' raising her hands in disgust.

He did as she asked and stepped back, easing himself out of her. She was clearly upset.

Izi slid off the table onto the floor. Grabbing her robe, she scrambled on all fours to the corner, sat with her back tight to the wall, wrapped arms around her knees, and huddled, rocking backward and forward. Black mascara tears roll down her cheeks in silent cry.

The guard pulled up his trousers and squeezed his depleting hard-on into his fly.

'Can I get you anything,' he asked, softly.

'Get out!' she shouted. 'Get out!'

He left, quietly closing the door behind him.

The infamous Isadora Bates was damaged goods, barely hanging on to her sanity.

CHAPTER 9

Franco's Penthouse, Chelsea, London

'So, he's a pervert, report him to the police, and get the bastard arrested.' Franco closed the file and leaned back in his chair. 'Not my problem.'

'It'll get covered up. These pictures were in police hands, but he has a lot of dosh, friends in high places, and a powerful address book, so they were ignored, lost.'

'How did you get them?' whispered Michael.

'Cos, I have friends in low places,' beamed David. 'Places that will turn a blind eye to whatever happens to him. He's pissed a few people off over the years, and it is your problem Franco, he's 'doing' kids in the youth team at Lonited, kids desperate to get picked.'

'Don't be ridiculous, football doesn't allow that sort of thing, they protect their boys.'

'Grow up,' spat David. 'Shit like this happens wherever there is power. He owns the club for god's sake, do you think anyone is going to say no to him, do you think anyone is going to come forward and risk their jobs?'

'Yes. I would.'

'Well do it, then.'

'Do what?'

'Hold a press conference, show the world these images, close his evil little world and the men he shares it with. He's part of a large trafficking ring. You have the power, the press are only too eager to listen to you, you're a hero in their eyes. Mister Golden Bollocks, god knows why?'

'You must be joking, I, what,' Franco stammered, flustered. 'How do I know those pictures are real? They could be photoshopped, I'd need evidence, witness statements, I'd need to speak with one of these boys, and know it's not a set up.'

'You are.'

Franco looked at him quizzically. 'What?'

'Take another look at the last image, it's over twenty years old.'

Franco flipped open the file again and went to the last page, he squinted at the grainy image.

'That boy, naked in the middle, is me, and the older boy cowering on the floor is Michael. You're looking at two eyewitnesses, right here, right now.'

'You bastard,' whispered Michael, eyes closed, jaw tight, body shaking, trying to keep his composure. 'You have no right.'

Josie grabbed her file and searched out the image. Michael hung his head in shame, wishing she wouldn't.

David watched him.

'Well, you might want to hide, turn a blind eye, forget the whole fucking experience and let him get away with it Michael, but I don't. And deep down you know that it never leaves you. How many men have you killed in battle? Legally of course, but I bet you didn't cry too much over it, because in your eyes, each one of those men was Bates, the headmaster, the priest, and the others like them. How many therapists have you seen? Oh yes, army doctors are good, there aint nothing they haven't seen, but you, you frighten them Michael, I've seen your file. Hence, you're now a civvie.'

'What do you want from me David,' Michael pleaded, banging his fists on the table, his eyes burning with pain, his body shaking. 'Why won't you leave it alone?'

Moira smiled, cat-like, Michael was cracking.

The gang turned to David, waiting for his answer.

'Because I can't forget, I've tried, but I can't. Okay he and others like him have fucked me up, but who's next Michael? Who's next? Which little boy is going to go through what we did, or little girl, I hear he's not fussy these days? We may be parents one day, what if they get one of our kids?'

Tara took a breath.

David sighed, ran a hand through his hair, and looked Michael in the eye. He knew how much it hurt, but he was doing them both a favor in putting an end to it. He continued in a softer voice.

'Masturbates has had his fun for long enough, it's time we had the guts to stand up for all the people he's ruined, for the kids he has his eyes on today, tomorrow, next week. He and his friends are in high places, the government, the courts, the churches, the media, director's boxes in football clubs, all too dangerous to pick a fight with, but hey, I'll take the blame, I'm a dead man walking, they don't even know I'm alive, what have I got to lose? It would be nice if you could help Michael and good for your soul, all that bitterness is killing you. Look what it did to me. I'm fucked. Rancid with revenge.'

'What have you turned into?' scoffed Franco. 'Some sort of evangelistic...'

'I'm in,' interrupted Seb.

'Me too,' countered Anton, sitting tall, defiant in his chair.

'Why don't you get Annie get your gun here, to kill him?' Franco nodded at Moira. 'She loves a moving target, quick, and efficient, end of problem.'

'Because I killed a few before, remember. The headmaster, the priest, professors, it was nice and quiet, quick, and efficient, end of problem. But that was a mistake; I should have made an example of them for all to see. Frighten off the would-be pervs, warn kids, warn families, of what's out there. I was too young to see the bigger picture. A few quiet deaths are not enough, it keeps the secrecy, enables them to do more. It needs to be utter humiliation, a public slaughtering, a name, and shame exercise, large enough to vibrate the perv world, including the dark net. My previous methods didn't work, I want to keep this one alive, make him squeal like a pig. He's a coward, he'll lay the blame elsewhere, of course. That's what I'm banking on because the rest of his circle will be uncovered. And the nasty foot soldiers that hide behind keyboards and spread these images around the net. And those that hide behind chatrooms snaring the vulnerable whilst gloating over these images,' he looked around the room.

'I need you lot to open the bag of worms, create a stir, use the media to get the public behind you and shake the tree. That's all.'

Moira walked around the table and stood behind Franco's chair, making him nervous.

'To cause that sort of trouble we'd need help,' Tara flicked through the file's pages. 'Need to hire professionals, have a place to work from, equipment, and a budget.'

'Manpower and money are not a problem,' soothed David. 'Moira has everything you'll need, and some pretty useful contacts, with a few favors to collect.'

'And who does Moira work for?' asked Josie.

'Me, and you, and the government. Well, a small cell within the government that deals with undesirables, in, how shall I put it? Non-standard ways.'

'Illegal you mean,' Franco could feel the heat of Moira's stare at the back of his head, her perfume circled his senses.

'Creative,' Moira corrected, placing a hand on his shoulder. He flinched. An electric shock raced through him. He looked sheepishly over at Tara, then corrected himself. They weren't together anymore; he wasn't being unfaithful in wanting to shag this woman's brains out.

'Where did you two meet?' asked Tara, catching Franco's reaction, not liking Miss Hinky one little bit.

Moira eyed Tara, removed her hand from the bracing Franco, and took a deep breath.

'Lord Bates was the reason for my brother's suicide,' she walked the length of the table to stand behind David. Her heel-clicks on marble breaking the solemn silence.

Tara closed her eyes and shook her head. The woman was after both David and Franco.

Moira's voice softened.

'Simon was abused by him as a child, when Bates tracked him down twenty years later, Simon was working in the city. Bates threatened to leak images of their time together to his work colleagues if he didn't insider deal. Simon refused, couldn't take the shame, and stepped out in front of the 18.06 Portsmouth to Waterloo train at Clapham Junction. I discovered that David had been abused by Bates also...' she looked down at David, her eyes welling. He nodded for her to continue.

She took a moment, raised a shaky hand to her face, slowly dragged a loose strand of hair across her forehead, neatly tucking it behind her ear. Gathering strength, she stood tall, hardened her stance, and carried on.

'So, I visited David in jail, and here we all are.'

'He sounds a right bundle of laughs,' sighed Josie. 'I'm sorry for your loss Moira, and I'm sure we all agree a dog like him needs to be put down, but I'm not sure we're equipped for the job,' she looked around the table. 'Come on, look at us, we're a bunch of misfits, we'd be well outta our league, surely, he's surrounded by security, staff? How could we ever get close to him?'

David smiled at her.

'We get him to come to us. Apart from vulnerable boys he has a penchant for S&M dominatrix hookers, something I think you've had experience in Josephine.'

Josie winced, giving him a 'you didn't need to do that' look.

'Yeah, but I don't do that anymore David, I'm retired, remember? Your sister didn't like to share, you were one of my last clients.'

Michael eyed David. Franco rolled his eyes, Tara shook her head, Seb giggled, and Anton sat open mouthed.

'How very useful,' smiled Moira, looking thoughtful. 'Hmmm, a hooker, we can work with that, you can implant a tracking device.'

'What?' groaned Franco. 'Where exactly, up his arse? Come on, you have to be kidding me,' subconsciously shifting buttock cheeks in his chair.

'Would you be able to get a signal from the bowel area?' questioned Anton. 'Surely it would just pop out when he went to number two?'

'Ewe! Can you all shut up please,' squirmed Tara.

'There is no way I'm going back into business for that bastard,' Josie put her hands up. 'If you leave me in a room with him, I'll cut his cock off, he'll bleed to death, and I'll end up in jail.'

'She's not doing it David,' whispered Michael, trying to control his shivering body. 'Leave him to me.'

'No, your way is too quick, he needs a long slow humiliation, something that will be remembered, something that will cause trouble for others like him long-term. Are you gonna help me, like the old days?'

Josie looked at Michael, 'what does that mean Mich...'

'Only joking,' interrupted David, he didn't have time for couple dramas.

The beating sound of an engine filled the room, getting louder and louder. The gang looked out the window as a large black Apache attack helicopter sidled up beside the building and lined itself in view of Franco's window.

The pilot gave a wave. The gang sat open mouthed. Anton squeaked, and meekly waved back.

'What the fuck?' shouted Franco over the noise.

'Our lift is here David. We have to go.' Moira calmly collected up the paperwork.

'Are those rockets?' whispered Seb, pointing to the belly of hovering beast.

'It has a few bits and bobs, hellfire and air-to-air missiles, rockets, cannon rounds, state of the art defense, longbow radar, thermal imaging, and direct view optics, to name but a few,' reported Moira.

David rolled his eyes and shook his head. 'A little over the top, isn't it?'

'Sorry, but everything else is out, we've got a few missions going on, or haven't you read the papers recently,' retorted Moira. 'Hurry up, it's gonna be a tight squeeze, it seats two and the pilot is in one. Don't press any buttons.'

'What about the pool car? We're only going across the river,' sighed David. 'So much for going bloody incognito,' he turned to face the window.

The gang gawped as he gave a thumbs-up to the pilot and pointed toward the ceiling, the pilot nodded, dipped out and away from the building, and headed for the roof. The noise muffled.

'I've got to leave you guys for a while. Please think over what we've discussed. Let me know if you're in, it's all of you or nothing. The sooner we get started the sooner I'm out of your hair.'

'You've got a fucking cheek, what makes you think we would ever help you?' spat Franco.

'Because once Bates is sorted, I'm gone for good, the quicker he pays, the quicker I disappear. Because you all have heart, once you've digested this, realized what he could be doing right now to some poor kid, you'll want to help. And if you do, you're in this with me, it's my insurance, you won't shop me to the police.'

They stared at him.

'It's either this way, or I kill you,' David shrugged.

Their mouths dropped.

'Joking, I won't kill you,' he grinned. 'That's so last year. But I get help to finish my list and stay out of prison. And you get to do the right thing, dish out a bit of justice, stop more fucked up people like me being created, and to never see me again. It's a win, win. What do you say?'

Silence.

'Okay,' he conceded. 'Moira will call Tara in the morning, if you're in, she'll direct you. If you're out, well, let's not think about that. Tara, untie them when I've gone. And give Michael back his stuff,' he chucked the gun and knife on the table.

'But I'm coming with you?' she argued.

'No, not yet, not until this is over, and then you can decide where you want to be, no more controlling coercive bullshit, it's got to be your choice.'

'But... but I've made my...'

'Oh, for god's sake little Miss Drama-pants, grow up,' barked Moira. 'Do what he said.'

'Fuck you Anoya,' barked Tara, David grinned.

'It's Moira,' snapped Moira, reaching for her gun. 'Do you have to be so rude?'

'Politeness is the end of passion,' spat Tara.

David shook his head with a smile... go girl.

'Remind me why we need her?' hissed Moira, spinning her glare to David.

'Look, T, it's not safe,' soothed David, holding a hand up to Moira. 'I've sent Bates a message, he knows I'm coming for him, it's best I'm on my own for now. If this lot are in, they need your help with the campaign, just like you did with Franco's 'Gotta See Her' campaign, remember? You're great at marketing and public relations.'

Moira slammed her briefcase shut and strutted to the lift doors, impatiently holding it open for David to join her. David ran across the room, clutching his pained chest, he was in the lift before Tara could react.

'David!' she yelled.

Moira glared at her. 'Men are guarding the exits; they have orders to shoot. You're not allowed to leave until our meeting tomorrow. You have three bedrooms and a few sofas here, food and drink will be delivered in the next hour, and you'll get your phones back in the morning. Ciao,' the lift doors closed across her stern face.

'Don't forget biscuits,' Anton shouted after her. 'He's only got energy bars.'

They remained seated, staring at the lift in shock.

'Oh, he's so James Bond these days,' sighed Anton. 'Love Miss Moneypenny's fuck-me shoes, and that pilot is rather cute.'

'Get us out of these,' barked Franco, waving shackled wrists.

Anton and Tara set about undoing the belts.

Josie wrapped herself around Michael, his head buried in her neck. They hung on tight until he stopped trembling.

'It's okay,' she whispered. 'It's okay.'

The whir of blades blasted outside the window, the helicopter dipped to their floor and hovered for a few seconds. David's face watched them through the glass, with Moira sat on his lap, he gave a knowing smile, a mock salute and leaned back in his seat, the helicopter abruptly spun off into the night sky.

Anton gave a wistful wave, 'David has left the building.'

Seb stared after him, wondering if he would ever get over this man, his first crush.

CHAPTER 10

'Can't we just kill them and be done with it, this lot couldn't organize a piss-up in a brewery,' sighed Moira as the helicopter skimmed London rooftops.

'No, I'm enjoying the challenge, and I promised Tara I'd change.'

Moira wrinkled her nose at the sound of her name.

'Tara, Tara, always bloody Tara, when are you going to get over it, David, no woman is worth dying for.'

'Who says I'm going to die? And don't underestimate this lot, they're an odd bunch, but resourceful, they do stuff from the heart, not from hate, which is much more powerful. Besides, I like this way of doing things, it feels pious. I must be going soft in my old age,' he stared out the window.

Below them, the black snakelike River Thames slithered into the distance, lined with lanes of traffic and dark brooding houseboats.

'I'll do it your way for a while, but as soon as I see these amateurs fucking up, I'm stepping in. I haven't got time for all this happy-hippy stuff.'

'Understood, but your way is not enough, it will be tomorrow's fish and chip paper, old news. You won't get a nation behind you, change people's psyche, make a difference. Promise me you'll give them everything they need, give them a chance. Hell, they may say no, and then we'll just kill him. How boring will that be?'

Moira, shrugged, and nestled into his lap, not happy.

'And leave Tara alone,' David chided. 'You two have something in common.'

'Oh yeah, what?'

'Good taste in men.'

----- End of Sample ----

David Howard has also joined The Fallen Angel Series

Copyright, For My Sins © 2023 by S C Cunningham. All rights reserved.