Lord of London Town

“Oi, mate! You got a fucking death wish?” he snapped, trying to get closer to me as he stumbled to his feet.

Charlie walked toward him and nutted the arsehole’s forehead, then fell back into step beside me as though nothing had happened. The fucker went down like a sack of potatoes, and his mates rushed around him.

We stopped across the street, and I threw a cig at Eric. The fucker winked and grinned before lighting up. Blood still covered his chin, and the tosser made no move to wipe it away. I looked around my family. All our knuckles were bloodied.

“All that for fingering some slut?” Freddie said to Eric. “She better have been worth it.”

Eric raised his hand and put his fingers under Freddie’s nose. “You tell me.”

Freddie batted his hand away, leaving Eric laughing. I took off my glasses, wiping the spots of blood from the lenses when I heard, “Adley.” I turned, and before me was Ollie Lawson. My lip curled just seeing his pretentious fucking face.

I put my glasses back on, took a drag of my cig and blew it out right in his face. Ollie’s nostrils flared, but he wouldn’t dare do shit against me. His old man owned a few docks around London. A legit business. Import and export. Lawson’s old man had offered my dad millions over the years to get ours too. Never with much luck, of course. The Lawsons were smug and smarmy and royal pains in our arses.

Especially this fucker. The sight of his face alone made me want to shatter his skull.

“Lawson!” Eric held out his arms. “No hug for me?”

“You’ve got blood all over your chin,” Lawson said, clearly disgusted. Eric made sure Lawson was watching as he licked at the blood.

“Did I get it all?” Eric asked, knowing he hadn’t. Charlie and Freddie laughed. Vinnie whispered into Pearl’s ear, and I just fucking glared. I hated this twat. Raised with a silver spoon in his mouth and walked around like he owned our fucking town.

“Anyway, just thought we’d say hello,” Lawson said, pointing to his mates. “We’re here for a holiday, just like you. A break from the Big Smoke, yeah?” He glanced at each of my mates, but his attention stayed on my cousin. “Charlie, sucked any good cocks lately?”

“Just your old man’s,” my cousin said. “But that maggot could hardly be classed as a dick.”

Ollie’s eyes flared. But we all knew he wouldn’t raise his fist. Lawson wasn’t a fighter. He was nothing. And we didn’t waste our energy on nothings.

Then Ollie’s eyes drifted over my shoulder and he broke out in a huge grin. “Sorry to cut our little chat short, Artie, but I’ve got someone I need to see.”

Lawson and his mates brushed past us and headed toward the club we’d just been in. I watched them go, only for that fucker to walk right up to Cheska. I tensed, ready to charge at the arsehole for even speaking to her. Then he hugged her; Cheska hugged him right back.

“That’s the bird from the yacht beside us,” Freddie said. “She knows Lawson?” My nails sliced into my palm as I clenched my fist so hard my bones practically broke. How the fuck did Cheska know Ollie Lawson? Had she fucked him? I felt my anger growing like a fucking demon inside me. That was new. Nothing made me feel much anymore.

I watched them head inside the club, Lawson’s arm around Cheska’s waist. I curled my hand around the knife in my pocket and fought the urge to follow them. I had just taken a deep breath when my mobile rang in my pocket. I took it out and saw my dad’s name.

“Dad,” I said, my eyes still fixed on Lawson through the window, at the bar with Cheska. She was smiling at him. She clearly knew him well.

“I need you to pay your Uncle Johnny Bailey a visit.”

“What kind of visit?” I asked. My mates gathered around, watching me.

“A thorough one,” Dad said.

I nodded at Charlie, and he took out his mobile and called for our transport. “We’ll go see him now.” I headed away from the club and toward the main road.

“Silly wanker has been giving away presents left, right and centre, and we know he can’t afford it,” my dad said. That was code, just in case Scotland Yard or some other agency were listening in trying to get something on our firm—that would never happen. We were too fucking careful.

Dad was telling me that Johnny was keeping the blow profits for himself instead of sending them back to London like a good boy. Didn’t matter that he’d been in my old man’s inner circle for years back in London, running one of the routes here in Marbella for only the last few years. Dad was ruthless. And he wanted me and my boys to send a message to anyone else on foreign shores who tried to steal from the Adley firm.