Lord of London Town

“Maybe Arthur isn’t as bad as you think,” I said.

“They’re East End gangsters,” Freya said. “They’re murderers! We’ve all heard the rumours.”

“Freya!” I checked none of the Adley boys had heard her. They were sitting around a table, talking, playing cards and drinking. At least most of them were. Arthur was leaning against the glass doors that led inside the yacht. He was silent, as usual. And his eyes were still on me. My thighs clenched together as he lit a cigarette and inhaled a long drag.

Why was that so damn hot?

“What? It’s true. Everyone knows about them. They’re notorious, Cheska. If Arthur didn’t look like that”—her finger moved up and down him—“then you’d be as petrified of him as we are.”

“How do you think they got that yacht?” Arabella said. “It wasn’t through legitimate businesses like our families. It was through drugs and guns and racketeering.” She huffed a disgusted laugh. “It probably doesn’t even run on petrol. It’ll be fuelled by the blood of the people they’ve killed.”

I rolled my eyes at Arabella’s dramatic words. “You’ve been watching too many crime documentaries. Your imagination is running away with you.”

“If you think Arthur Adley doesn’t belong on those documentaries, as the bad guy, then you belong in Broadmoor loony bin,” Freya said. “No one, in all of Europe, has anything on the Adleys. They’re criminals of the worst kind—untouchable. You need to keep away. You wouldn’t last a day in his world.”

“And you have Hugo,” Arabella said. “You’ve been with him for years. His father worked with yours before he died. Now he’s cared for by your old man, he’ll always be with you. You know you’ll marry him just like your daddy wants. And he adores you.”

My stomach sank when I thought of Hugo. I loved Hugo—he was sweet and kind and I knew he would be loyal to me. But I didn’t burn for him. Nothing he did set me alight. But Arabella was right. My daddy wanted us to marry—no, he expected us to marry. He never entertained anything else.

“Speaking of …” Freya nodded in the direction of the living quarters. Hugo and Percy—his best friend—came toward us. Hugo leaned down and pressed a kiss to my lips. It was soft and gentle and loving. I knew, in my gut, that Arthur kissed nothing like that. His kiss would be savage and all-encompassing.

“I’ll be back in a few days.” Hugo looked across at the Adleys, a hint of worry in his stare. When I followed his gaze, Arthur hadn’t even acknowledged Hugo; he was still looking directly at me. “What the fuck is he looking at?” Hugo said. But it wasn’t loud enough for Arthur or his friends to hear. Hugo wouldn’t dare take them on.

“Barcelona?” Freya asked Hugo, distracting him. Hugo turned to her.

“Yeah. George asked me to close a deal there while we were here. When we get back, we’ll take the yacht to Ibiza, yeah?”

“Sounds good,” I said. Percy and Hugo left the yacht and took a car toward the airport. Hugo had been working alongside my dad for a couple of years now, during holidays while he finished up sixth form at his boarding school. This summer he started full time. He didn’t need university or a degree. He was primed to follow in my father’s footsteps in the company—qualifications meant nothing when nepotism was a factor. Hugo was a good man. I knew that. He was the son my father never had.

My father loved me. But I wasn’t a son. He’d always wanted a son. His relationship with Hugo was arguably better than his with me.

My eyes drifted to Arthur again, only to see him heading inside the yacht. My eyes were fixed on his tattoo of London on his stomach and chest. He was muscled and toned, but not overly bulky.

He was a living, breathing cocktail of deadly sins.

“Come on,” Arabella said. “We’re meeting Ollie and everyone tonight for dinner.” She laughed and shook her head. “We can watch him moon all over you with Hugo not being there. It’s tragic.”

I grimaced. I liked Ollie, but not in a romantic way. He clearly liked me, though, and when Hugo wasn’t around made no bones about it. Hugo and Ollie had attended sixth form together. It was how we all became friends.

Freya threaded her arm through mine. “Come on, Cheska. Let’s have a good night. It’ll help you forget the devil on the neighbouring boat.”

Devil. That seemed a good title for Arthur. Most people were terrified of him. He was unapproachable, with eyes that could cut you where you stood. And he had the allure of Satan too. A magnet to sin and temptation, stirring wants and desires inside of me that were anything but chaste and holy. And if the rumours were true, he had the evilness of the dark lord too.