Lord of London Town

“I’ve got a trace,” Ronnie said. Arthur tensed beneath me. I stared at Ronnie. Charlie, Freddie, Vinnie and Eric had all stopped talking, and their heads swerved her way. Betsy, clearly hearing the commotion in the living room, slipped inside.

“What did you get, babes?” Vera asked Ronnie.

“They’re in South London.” She waved the piece of paper in her hand. “The video that was sent to you, the encrypted number,” she said, so fast I struggled to keep up. “It came from South London.”

“Where?” Arthur said darkly, lighting a cigarette.

“I haven’t managed to pin it down yet. But I will. I know I will.” A manic, sleep-deprived smile spread on Ronnie’s pretty face. “This is the first breakthrough I’ve had on these fuckers. Ever.”

Arthur was still unmoving beneath me. Still tense. “Good job, Ron,” he said. Vera got up and kissed her girlfriend.

“I’ll keep going,” Ronnie said, and they left the room.

“South London.” Charlie became lost in thought. “None of the usual lot down there seem likely to have the resources to do something on this level.”

“They don’t,” Arthur said. “This isn’t someone we know already. No two-bit drug-dealer unit could swing all this. This is someone else. Something else. The gangs we know of in South London—all through London—are pretenders next to this group. These cunts are a motherfucking empire. A hidden fucking empire.” Arthur inhaled a drag of his cigarette, then exhaled. “Because only another empire could come at us like this.” He flicked the ash into the ashtray beside us. “But empires fall. And these fuckers are going to be buried along with anyone else who tries to tear my family down.”

I felt Arthur’s lips on my shoulder. “Let’s go, princess.” I recognised that tone in his voice. I stood, and he followed me into the bedroom. He peeled off my clothes and turned on the shower.

Arthur fucked me against the wall, his lips on my mouth, my cheeks, my breasts. He fucked me hard and fast until I screamed out in the foggy, steamy room. Arthur’s skin was slick against mine, his head tucked into the crook between my neck and shoulder as he came, his roar echoing around us.

Still inside me, he carried me to the bed and laid us down. He kissed me like he would devour me. His hands slipped over every inch of my skin like he owned it.

He did. He owned me heart and soul.

Breathless, I tore away from his mouth and gasped for air. Arthur, still unwilling to release me, pulled me into his chest, and I caught my breath, watching the sunlight fade in the skylight above.

“Checked in with my contact in your family’s business today.” I lifted my head and stared into Arthur’s eyes. He had slipped his glasses back on and lit cigarettes for us both. He passed one over to me.

“You did?” I asked, taking a drag.

“They’ve hired a temporary CEO while you’re still a missing person.” I swallowed and smoked, the tobacco calming me down. “The police are still running around like idiots, falling for our false leads. They still haven’t recovered your dad and Fuckface’s bodies.” I tensed, wondering where they might have been dumped. Arthur and Charlie thought they had probably been burned. No evidence that way.

“And Freya and Arabella?”

“Both have been buried. Funerals were done as soon as their bodies were released by the police. The investigation is still open.” Arthur placed his hand under my chin and lifted it up. “There won’t be any answers for their families. At least, not until we bury these fuckers and you’re able to be seen again.”

I swallowed. “What would I tell them?”

“We’ll think of something.”

I traced the inked London skyline on Arthur’s chest, my fingertip ghosting over the top of Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament. “I’m not sure I ever want to be found.” I sighed, feeling more than off-kilter at the thought of returning in any way to my old life.

Arthur put his cigarette in his mouth and pulled me up to lie on his chest. My face hovered above his. Leaving his cigarette perched between his lips, he said, “You’re too high profile, princess. You’re Cheska Harlow-Wright, not some fucking nobody.” A shadow crossed over his face. “If you want to be with me, and not have every fucking bobby in the country thinking it was my family that took you, you have to resurface at some point.”

“I never want them to think it was you.”

Arthur smirked. His body wet and muscled, that cigarette between his lips, made my thighs clench. “They’ll think it was Stockholm Syndrome or some shit. That you fell for the fucking Dark Lord of London Town and I corrupted you, dragged you to my lair and made you my dark queen.”

“Well,” I said. “It’s not too far from the truth.”