Lord of London Town

I cocked my head, looking at the lines on Johnny’s face. The pock marks and the burst capillaries. Our firm had done him well. Protected him. Gave him anything he wanted.

“Loyalty.” I pressed the tip of my knife into his fat cheek. “All we ask for in return is loyalty.” I pressed so hard that blood sprouted and ran down his face like a tear of crimson. “In the Adley firm, our word is our bond. You swore loyalty to my old man.” I pulled the knife away. “And you’ve broken your bond.” I put the handle of my knife between my teeth and rolled up my shirt sleeves to my elbows. I took hold of the knife again.

“You were right to want my old man to be your bondsman. He may be ruthless, but he’s quick and merciful.” A slow grin pulled on my lips. “I am anything but.”

“You’re insane,” Johnny spat, knowing he had no more cards left to play. “You always were a sadistic little fucker.” His eyes scanned over my boys. “You all were. All fucking insane.” He spat on the ground at my feet. “It’s beneath the Adley name, acting like this.” His nose screwed up like we were the worst-smelling fuckers in the world. “There’s dignity in being London gangsters. I was beside your old man when he created the firm. We lived by a code. We were gentlemen gangsters, not the fucking nutjob murderers you lot have become.”

“Nutjob murderers,” Charlie said, nodding. “That has a nice ring to it.”

“Is this the future of the Adley firm?” he sneered. “You lot?” He shook his head. “I’m better off being dead.”

“Glad we finally agree on something,” I said and, before he could even believe it, slashed my knife across his stomach, deep and in three directions. Johnny screamed. Blood oozed from the open cuts.

Inside, I grinned at the way he yelled. At the red on his face from the pain. I moved beside him, and his pain-filled gaze followed me. “Ever heard of disembowelment?” Johnny paled. I took that as a yes. I placed my foot on the side of the chair that was supporting his bent legs. “I’ve just cut your stomach in a way that the minute you drop your legs, your innards will spill from your body and crash onto the floor. You’ll die slowly. And it will be painful.”

Johnny’s breath was coming faster and faster. His body jerked as my foot rocked the chair beneath him.

“No, please,” he begged. I never moved my eyes from his stare. He must have realised he was going to die, as he said, “You’ll burn in hell one day, Artie.”

“You’re right,” I said. “But that day isn’t here yet, and until then …” I booted the chair from underneath him. The chair skidded across the room, and Johnny screamed as he held both legs in the air using only his strength.

“Bet you wish you’d hit the gym more instead of the pubs, hey, Johnny?” Charlie said, and my boys all stood beside me as we watched his legs lower, his core strength fading, and his slashes rip open.

On a final scream, his effort failed, and his legs fell until his toes scraped against the concrete of the basement floor. In seconds, the slashes I’d made tore open, and out spilled his bowels into a heap on the floor. Johnny’s eyes sought me out, and without another word, I walked for the stairs. I heard Freddie taking the pictures my old man would want to distribute to any other of our men who thought about fucking us over. Eric called for clean-up and the retrieval of the blow.

I pushed out into the warm night and slid into the van’s back seat. My boys all piled in, and we made our way back to the yacht. I stared out of the window, at Marbella and the drunks falling out of the bars. Johnny was right. I was a sadistic murderer. Because I felt fuck all about killing him. About gutting him like a pig despite knowing him my entire life.

All my emotions had burned in a blazing inferno alongside my sister and mum the night the cottage caught fire and it stripped them of their bones and flesh. I had nothing left. And whatever still lingered liked to kill and cause pain to others. It screamed at me to punish, to seek revenge for my family that died.

“I’m going to get badges made for us.” Eric started laughing. As did Freddie. “Club Nutjob Murderers.”

“Are we going back clubbing?” Freddie asked. “I’ve still got at least four hours of drinking and fucking left in me.”

I could feel Charlie looking at me. I didn’t give a fuck what we did. Clearly my cousin got that message. “Tom,” Charlie said to our driver. “Take us to the most debauched club in Marbella. We need to get all kinds of fucked up tonight.”