With her head thrown back as her small waist curled and her thick hips rolled dangerously along his shaft, making her lover cling to her as if the key to his salvation was between her thighs, Trish sighed luxuriously and leant down as if to kiss him. She grazed her trademark rouged lips against his open, panting mouth, and slowly reached up towards the top of the bed, using one hand to grip the wrought iron headboard (using the leverage to take him deeper into her), and the other to slide down the back of her queen-sized mattress, before snapping back into the upright position with her heart-shaped face and torso twisted towards her bedroom door. Her butterfly pearl handled 22 was extended in front of her, aiming at the head of the tall dark figure who had quietly appeared in her doorway.
"Aiden, what have I told you about sneaking up on me?" She purred irritably, still making love to the clinging man who was struggling to release himself from her enchanting hip undulations to see who dared to disturb them.
“I didn’t realise you had company,” Aiden’s gravelly voice answered disapprovingly as he stepped out of the shadows with Trish’s spare keys dangling from his clenched fist. He strolled in arrogantly, unfazed by the intimate scene before him, picked up her lover’s jeans from the floor and chucked them at him. “Hurry up and get out,” he ordered.
“Yo what the fuck!" Her lover half yelled, half panted, glaring up at Aiden, tempted to throw Trish off and swing at him for disrupting the best sex of his life -but he didn’t dare to pull out yet; being buried inside her felt like the first hit of some good weed; euphoric. Before he knew it, Trish sped up, pounding her pelvis hard and fast against him, taking him all the way in, as deep as he could go, until he clenched his eyes shut, dug his fingers into the soft flesh of her curvaceous hips and grunted. His orgasm shook him harder than an earthquake; uncontrollable and intense as if he had just overdosed on her.
Trish slid off of him and pecked him sulkily on the lips while he tried to regain his composure. “Sorry baby; if Aiden says you’ve got to go, you’ve got to go.”
Her lover stared up at her wide eyed and unable to form words. He nodded.
Trisha sashayed over to her chaise lounge, put down her gun and picked up her white satin dressing gown with a frown on her face; Aiden got on her last nerve sometimes. “Go and wait in the living room, I’ll be down in a minute,” she snapped at him. Aiden shot another disapproving look at her lover, but left without another word.
After apologising profusely and promising to make it up to him, Trish bid her lover farewell and stormed in to her living room, ready to give her old friend a piece of her mind, when she saw Jamie asleep in his arms. She sighed and sat next to him, taking her God Son from him and settling back into her sofa. “What’s going on A?” she asked with dark curiosity, knowing that whatever was coming was bad.
“Keegan’s missing.”
Trish clutched Jamie a little tighter; “Are you sure? You know Keegz can be a bit wild sometimes. You positive he ain’t ran off with one of his hoes’ for a few days?”
“He’s missing Trish. I know who took him and I need to get him back before they kill him,” Aiden replied morbidly, wishing that Trish’s assumption were true. “I need you to keep Jamie until this is over.”
Trish furrowed her brow, “Me? Where’s Sofia?” Aiden fell silent and looked away. Trish cursed under her breath knowing exactly what his silence meant. She slid one arm out from under Jamie and swung at Aiden, her palm slapping against his already tensed chest –he knew she would hit him. “Aiden, she’s Jamie’s mother for crying out loud!”
“She’s the reason they took Keegan,” he growled.
Trish’s mouth formed a red ‘o’ shape and she instantly regretted striking him. “Who is ‘they’?” she asked in a softer tone.
“The Synidicate.” Now it was time for Trish to fall silent as the direness of the situation sunk in. She pressed her lips into a flat line and bit down on her tongue to keep herself from crying; the Syndicate taking Keegan meant that he was as good as dead. She quickly forgave Aiden for killing that backstabbing bitch Sofia and reasoned that in truth she never liked her that much anyway, she only put up with her for Keegan’s sake.
Trisha was Dougie’s little sister; she had grown up next door to Aiden and Keegan on Myatts Field Estate, and with them being so close with her older brother, she became Aiden and Keegan’s little sister too -albeit with a less than conventional sibling like relationship, especially in Keegan’s case. As Trish was family, Aiden had her working for him, purposely placing her somewhere that she could stay out of trouble. She ran the Diamond’s Hair Salon -one of Aiden’s front businesses to keep the tax man off of his back -where she could keep an eye on things in their town –you’d be surprised about how much you can learn from gossip in a hair shop.
“Have you sent The Maids in yet?” she asked, referring to Aiden’s team of cleaners who would enter a crime scene after the Diamond Mafia had done their business, to make sure that there was no trace of them ever being there.
Aiden nodded. Within an hour of their departure, Aiden had The Maids at Sofia’s place removing all traces of his and Dougie’s presence. The Diamond Mafia were quick and efficient, part of the reason why their crew had exceeded the common street gang status, to one of South London’s biggest up and coming organised crime cartels. Leaving Sofia’s body crumpled haphazardly in the middle of her living room floor, The Maids switched on the television and damaged the lock on the front door, turned sections of the house upside down to make it seem as if someone had been there searching for something, and that poor Sofia was simply collateral damage. It was the only logical outcome for the police when they would finally turn up later on.
“Good. I’ll get Polly to run the salon while I have Jamie.”
“Okay,” he squeezed her hand, silently thanking her for cooperating without a fuss and got to his feet, “I’ll wire you some extra money later on so you can get what you need to take care of him. Once the police have been to Sofia’s place, I’ll send one of The Maids over to bring some of his things, and then I want you and Jamie out of London until this is sorted. I’ll send Driver to pick you up.”
Trish stood and grabbed Aiden’s hand just as he turned to leave. Her bottom lip was trembling, “Bring him back. I don’t care what you have to do, you bring Keegan back home!”
Aiden looked down at her cradling his nephew protectively, watching as she stubbornly held back her tears –Trish hated crying, she said it made her feel weak, but Keegan meant a lot to her so there was a chance that she might unwillingly make an exception for him. He carefully pulled her into hug, being mindful of Jamie’s sleeping frame, pushed her bleached blonde curls out of the way and kissed her forehead. “I’ll do everything in my power,” he promised.
Aiden paced up and down his apartment, waiting to hear back from Dougie about the whereabouts of Vince Lockewood. It was 3am and he’d been trying to pace himself with his drinking so that his head would be clear enough when it was time to handle business, alternating between Hennessey and water to steady his nerves. For the first time in a long time, Aiden was afraid. There was a very real chance that he would lose his brother and he knew that if that happened he would lose his mind. Not knowing where he was or if he was even still alive was driving him crazy. He would’ve loved nothing more than to drink himself into oblivion so that he could have a few moments to escape from this terrifying ordeal, but he had to keep his head. Keegan’s life (if he still had one) depended on it.
Suddenly his phone vibrated, and it was all he could do not to leap across the table to answer it. It was Mighty.
“We’ve found Vince,” Mighty answered the instant Aiden picked up, “He’s at the Rococo Lounge in Charing Cross. Driver, Dougie, and Stone are on their way to get you. They should be there in the next 10 minutes; wear something pretty.”
Aiden rolled his eyes at his soldier’s constant need for light-heartedness. “Cool. Any word on Keegan?”
“Not yet, I’m still looking, but I did find someone that might interest you and could provide a little leverage to get him back,” Mighty grinned devilishly into his headset. Aiden could hear his deft fingers hacking away at the keyboard, which meant that he was bringing up a file on this person of interest.
“Who?”
“Vince’s daughter.”
Aiden paused momentarily; “Lockewood has a kid? I didn’t know that.”
“No one did,” Mighty boasted excitedly, “Vince kept her under wraps in case some clever bastard decided to use her against him.”
“You clever bastard,” Aiden chuckled dryly, backing some water before heading to his bedroom to pick out some suitable attire that would be fitting for Rococo Lounge, and would allow him to conceal a weapon.
“You’re too kind,” Mighty laughed. “Her name is Ava-Marie. She’s 21 and attends Excelsior University where she’s studying to be a vet.”
“A vet?”
“Yeah, she’s a right little do-gooder this one. She volunteers and regularly donates to a bunch of charities, works at the local animal shelter at the weekends, she’s did a stint in the Peace Corps, she’s a vegan AND takes part in anti-war protests…plus, she’s fucking hot!”
“How are you finding all of this?” Aiden asked, impressed with the extent of personal information that Mighty had dug up on the daughter of one of the world’s biggest drug lords, that no one knew existed.
“I’d like to pretend that I went into super hacker mode, but it was actually pretty simple. She’s on Facebook.”
Aiden’s impressed face fell, “Facebook? So how did no one know about her?”
“Well, because no one else is a clever bastard, so they didn’t know where to look. She’s on here as Ava-Marie Wallace –that’s her mother, Louise Lockewood’s, maiden name. I remembered that Vince had been married once, so I was originally looking for Louise to use her as leverage, but it turns out that she’s been dead a few years now. Her death is recorded as suicide, but we both know what that really means.”
“Vince topped her?” Aiden guessed.
“Yup! Found out that she’d been screwing one of his Capos; killed them both. Anyway, I came across and old holiday photo of Vince and Louise with a little girl on holiday in Dubai on their Intel database when they had been following him that year all those sheiks kept turning up dead. All they had on Ava was her name. I searched for her under Lockewood but there was nothing, then I figured that if she was being kept a secret, that Daddy wouldn’t approve of her being traceable. You know how kids are; they get a bit of life experience and think they know better than their parents and start to rebel; she shoulda listened to her father. I tried Wallace on my second go and she popped right up.”
“Okay, send Ash out to pick her up,” Aiden ordered looking in the mirror at the tie he had chosen to wear with his black Emporio Armani suit. He frowned and decided against it.
“Way ahead of you, big guy! I tracked down the Lockewood girl’s phone number and located her device, then gave Ash the co-ordinates. She’s already on her way. With any luck we should have her in a few hours.”
Aiden paused; “You sent Ash out without my order?” he yelled.
“Not me A, Dougie did.”
“So what, is Dougie running the show now?”
“No, but it needed to be done sooner than later. We all want Keegan back just as much as you do A; he’s our family too,” Mighty said in a firmer tone than Aiden was used to him using. Mighty was the techy geek of the crew; he was still as bad as the rest of them once his temper flared up, but generally he had a light-hearted disposition, which at times became quite childlike when he cracked some new government code, infiltrated some top secret system or found a new gadget that would give the Diamond Mafia an edge on the opposition. Mighty used to use his talent to rob some of the world’s biggest, high security banks, but his last heist went up in flames and landed him in the penitentiary. The moment he got out he was broke and homeless, with no one to turn to for help. Aiden kept seeing him around the area, watching how Mighty would stake out the cash machines then type in some codes and withdraw money without using a card -and without ever getting caught. He figured he could use someone like that in his crew, so he took him off the streets, gave him a place to stay, and put money in his pockets in exchange for his talents, with the promise that he’d never be homeless or lonely again.
“Fine,” Aiden resolved, making a mental note to have a word with Dougie later, “Tell Ash to take her to the compound once she’s secured her.”
“That’s if she secures her. You ever heard of Max Yang?”
“The name sounds familiar.”
“He’s one of Vince’s boys. He’s assigned to protect Ava-Marie and he’s very good at his job.”
Aiden opened a small cabinet at the bottom of his wardrobe, pulled out a sheathed pocket blade, and his Weihrauch Silver Star pistol, then slotted them into a the holder concealed under his arm and around his calf. “Ash is better.”
Ash peeked up at the handsome young man across the room perched on a stool, watching the way he watched the young girl with the sweet cinnamon skin, hazel eyes and braided hair, longingly and protectively. He was in love with her; it wasn’t obvious, but there was no denying it once you noticed the way his eyes softened when she laughed, that it was there.
She pushed up the sleeves of the navy ‘University of Excelsior’ sweater that she’d stolen from one of the dorm rooms, and loosened a few strands of her fiery red hair from her messy bun to frame her heavily freckled face, before she stepped across the threshold of the entrance to the Excelsior Student Union bar, where most of the people in attendance were chugging down pints of beer with their eyes fixated on one of the four big screens mounted on the wall, watching the FIFA World Cup. As she made her way to the bar, she noted that unlike the rest of the men in the vicinity, her mark wasn’t watching the game. Even when he took his eyes off of her other mark, he didn’t look at the screen; well at least now she had an idea of how to start the conversation. She ordered a cranberry juice and sauntered over to him, casually sat on the stool next to him, took a sip of her juice, and looked dismally at the screen. This time when he looked away from the cinnamon skinned girl, he glanced at Ash -and she pretended not to notice. He was even more attractive up close, with his warm complexion, slanted eyes, straight nose and tousled jet black hair. He smelt clean, like Dove soap and chewing gum, and although he was slim, she could tell that he worked out; his clothes fit him the way that people who worked out did -like the body of a male mannequin in the display window of JD Sports.
He glanced at her again, like she knew he would; Ash had a peculiar beauty that wasn’t instantly noticeable, but she looked like art, so you always felt compelled to look again to pin point what it was about her that you found so aesthetically fascinating. This time she glanced back at him then back to the screen, tucking a strand of her brilliant hair behind her ear to stir the air between them so that he could get a waft of her soft floral scent.
After a moment, she leant into him slightly and talked over the noise; “Who are you rooting for?”
He seemed surprised that she had said anything; most women were intimidated by him and his sharp, angular features. He had a nice face, but it wasn’t a welcoming one. He glanced at the screen, “I don’t even know who’s playing,” he admitted, reaching behind him to retrieve his bottle of Desperado beer with a slice of lime wedged in the top of it, “Football’s not really my thing.”
Ash raised her eyebrow at him, “Then why are you here?”
He glanced at the cinnamon girl surrounded by a gaggle of blondes and brunettes chatting away in tank tops and tight jeans, sipping white wine and waiting for the match to end so that the men would take an interest in them again. He pushed the lime down into the bottle and took a swig; “I’m with my friend.”
“How come you’re sat here by yourself then?” She asked, slowly taking the straw between her naturally flushed lips and peering up at him through her long lashes.
He looked down at her; his eyes fell to her lips wrapped around the straw momentarily, then quickly up to her curious turquoise eyes. He shrugged, “It’s quieter over here.”
“Giggling girls not your thing either?” she bumped her shoulder against his playfully.
“Not really,” he smiled tightly.
“Me neither,” she smiled back. She extended her hand to him and introduced herself, “Ashley.”
He shook it. “You don’t look like an Ashley.”
“Oh? So what do I look like then?” she slipped the straw back between her lips. His eyes fell to her mouth again, lingering there a little longer this time before meeting her eyes once more.
“Trouble.”
Ash released his hand and laughed, “Me? I’m an angel!”
He settled back on his stool, rested his arms on the shelf behind him and said, “Lucifer was an angel. He was trouble.” He focused his attention back on the cinnamon girl.
Ash sat a little straighter, asserting her presence. She had a job to do and she wasn’t about to let him think he could shake her that easily. She had seduced mob bosses, world leaders and sheiks; this solider wasn’t about to turn her down. She crossed her long legs, brushing her shapely calf up against his knee, “But I’m not Lucifer darling, I’m Ashley. And you are?”
He smirked at her; he knew he was right, this girl definitely was trouble, but she had a certain charm to her that he couldn’t ignore. “Max.”
“Max,” she purred, “It suits you.”
“Does it?” he chuckled.
Ash let her eyes run over him from head to toe, inch by glorious inch. “I imagine it does,” she smiled suggestively. Max took another swig of his Desperado. She couldn’t help but think what a lovely looking mark he was –a little arrogant, but lovely nonetheless. She was going to enjoy this. She finished her drink and slid off of the stool, “So what’s it gonna be Max; you gonna sit here and watch the girls giggle, or you gonna come with me and live up to your namesake?”
Max’s almond eyes widened and he almost choked on his beer, “What? We don’t even know each other!” he spluttered, losing his cool edge.
Ash took his hand, “Yes we do darling. You’re Max,” she drew him closer to her and draped his arm around her waist, letting his hand rest on the curve of her back. She bit her lip and smiled mischievously, “And I’m trouble.”
***
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