Refusal (The Cardigan Estate Book 3) Read online

  Refusal - Text copyright © Emmy Ellis 2020

  Cover Art by Emmy Ellis @ studioenp.com © 2020

  All Rights Reserved

  Refusal is a work of fiction. All characters, places, and events are from the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

  The author respectfully recognises the use of any and all trademarks.

  With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the author.

  Warning: The unauthorised reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded, or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the author’s written permission.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter One

  In the ‘massage’ parlour situated in an area at the back of her pub, The Angel, Debbie waited for Lavender, one of her working girls, to spill her story, but the woman had clamped her lips shut, her dark skin pinched around the eyes.

  “Come on, out with it,” Debbie said.

  They were sitting on the sofas, the tale needing to be told before the other girls turned up for their shift. They didn’t have long, and if Lavender took her time about it, they’d have to go into Debbie’s room, and the girls would wonder what was wrong. Maybe ask questions.

  Questions weren’t good.

  “You know Kevin Robins?” Lavender asked.

  Don’t we all?

  He was one of the other patch leaders, someone almost as frightening as Cardigan had been. How the hell had Lavender got mixed up with him? Or was this nothing to do with her and she’d just heard some rumblings about him, fancied a chat? No, Lavender had not long said: “They’re men from my past. And we really don’t want them coming around here.”

  “Yes, I know him. Hard not to, considering the circles we live in.” Debbie dreaded what was coming next.

  Lavender sighed, edgy, and got up. She walked over and stared out of the back window, maybe at the gravestones in the distance behind the pub. If she’d got herself in the shit with Robins, she’d find herself in one of those graves.

  Bloody hell. “Look, what’s going on?” Debbie asked.

  “I represented him once.”

  Prior to becoming a sex worker, Lavender had been a solicitor. She joked sometimes that her job title hadn’t changed, only what she did—court versus the parlour. Debbie had often wondered why Lavender had left such a good job to sell herself, and maybe she’d find out now.

  But did she want to? She’d slayed her own demons and was moving on. Would what Lavender had to say upset her carefully constructed apple cart? Would the fruit come toppling down?

  “And?” she asked.

  “He…he got off on a technicality, which was good for him and me—he’d warned me if I didn’t get him off, I’d know all about it. I should never have agreed to take his case, but with someone like him, you haven’t got the option of refusal. You know how the leaders are—well, The Brothers are an exception, they actually have hearts despite being hard bastards. Anyway, Kevin seemed to think afterwards—after the trial, I mean—that I’d do stuff for him. You know, be with him, have sex, go running whenever he called. He’d snap his fingers, I’d be there, that sort of thing. He said if I didn’t…” Lavender shook her head.

  It was obvious whatever had gone on was painful. Debbie joined her and put her arm around the woman to encourage her to go on.

  Lavender rested her head against Debbie’s, the move so unlike her. She was normally aloof, but Debbie understood. Lavender had reached breaking point and needed someone to care.

  Lavender held her hands up to her chin, folding them beneath. “Anyway, I did what he wanted, shut it out, like I do now at work, and sometimes he’d have people at his house. Parties and stuff, or just drinking until the early hours with his men. They had meetings. I heard things I shouldn’t have. He didn’t know, not for ages, but when he found out…” She shuddered.

  It rippled right through Debbie, and her body mimicked the shiver. “What went on?” She held her breath.

  “He said I was tied to him for life because I knew certain things. That if I hadn’t been listening, I would have been safe. I tell you, I wished so hard I hadn’t come out of that bedroom and gone down to the kitchen for a drink. If I’d stayed up there, I wouldn’t have heard them talking. Wouldn’t have stopped to bloody listen.”

  “God, Lav, I’m so sorry. What happened next?”

  “He let me come and go as normal, even sit in on the meetings to give them legal advice. It went against everything I’d been taught, to abet criminals.”

  “Not being funny, but don’t solicitors do that anyway? I mean, they represent people who’ve done wrong, and they know they have, and fight to stop them going to prison anyway.”

  “That’s one way of looking at it. Didn’t feel like that at the time, though. Now, I’m inclined to believe you. I’d have preferred to help the innocent, but when you work for a firm that dishes out cases to you, you take them, do your best.”

  “So you got away, obviously.”

  “So I thought, but I knew he’d come after me, find me, so I ditched the job and…and started what I do now. I’d been used by him so thought I may as well carry on with others, except I’d be getting paid for it. Plus, I was safer. He wouldn’t be able to find me working for any firm. And if I worked on The Cardigan Estate, I thought he might not dare come looking. It’s difficult to explain.”

  “You don’t have to, I get it.” Debbie didn’t go into why she’d entered their profession. It was what she did, and that was an end to it.

  The buzzer sounded, and they both jumped, Lavender staring at Debbie. Christ, Robins had really done a number on her.

  “Don’t panic,” Debbie said. “That’ll be the girls because we’re not out the front in the pub. Quick, what do you need my help with? You do still need my help, don’t you?”

  Lavender smiled, but it was tight, like she didn’t want to say the next words. “I hate putting pressure on you to get what I need but…I worked out what you did.”

  Debbie frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “Mickey Rook, Harry Findley…”

  Debbie’s blood ran cold. She’d killed them, thought no one but a s
elect few knew. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” But she did. She fucking did.

  “Don’t give me that crap. You said you were helping The Brothers out, and we all know what that means.”

  The Brothers, twins called Greg and George Wilkes, ran this patch of London named The Cardigan Estate, taking it over after Cardigan’s murder. If you ‘helped them out’, it usually involved either snitching or killing, everyone around here knew that. Debbie had assumed Lavender would think it was grassing.

  “Lavender…” Debbie didn’t know whether to admit it or not. She’d almost confessed to her before, after she’d killed Harry, but… It didn’t seem right to give her the details, to admit how she’d felt—exhilarated—while killing those two men. She should be ashamed of herself but wasn’t. She’d become a different person, bloodthirsty and eager to end their miserable little lives. She’d done it for a good reason, because Cardigan hadn’t been able to, and so she’d feel better. They’d planned Cardigan’s death and had to pay for it.

  Lavender laughed quietly. “Then you know what to do, what I want.”

  Debbie swallowed. Shit a brick. Could she kill again, go for the hat trick?

  Lavender bit her lip. “I want you to kill him.”

  “God, how can I—”

  The buzzer went off again, followed by a wallop on the door and, “What’s going on in there?” from Lily.

  “Shit, we can’t discuss it now.” Debbie had gone shaky. “Come to my flat after work, all right, we’ll talk about it properly then.”

  Lavender nodded. “Sorry, but I’ve got no one else.”

  Debbie patted her arm and stepped away to walk to the door, steeling herself to act bright and cheerful when one of her best girls had asked her to commit murder. While Debbie had killed Mickey and Harry to avenge her lover’s assassination, she hadn’t expected to be in that position again for someone else. It was insane, what Lavender wanted.

  Christ.

  Debbie opened the door and smiled at Lily, then behind her at Iris and Rosie. “Evening, ladies.”

  “Blimey,” Lily said, breezing past, “what kept you? I buzzed twice. Have you gone deaf or what?”

  “Maybe. I didn’t hear you first time.” Debbie hated lying to them, but it was all she could come up with under pressure. “Too busy gassing.”

  They all filed in, and Debbie turned to look at Lavender. The woman’s lips quirked up conspiratorially, then downturned as if she were truly sorry for dragging Debbie into this. She wandered into her room, shoulders slumped.

  Business as usual then, until later.

  Everyone else disappeared into their rooms, too, leaving Debbie standing in the middle of the reception area, wondering what the fuck had just happened. Kevin Robins. No one in their right mind would mess with him, men didn’t even try it, so what the hell could Debbie do? She needed to know more about him for a start, his patterns, his personality, how he reacted to certain situations. Word on the street wasn’t enough. Rumours didn’t tell the true story, and if anyone knew what that was, it was Lavender.

  Debbie made a cuppa then sat behind the reception desk, booting up the CCTV and the computer to look at the Excel spreadsheet. Tonight’s customers included Tommy Toes, someone Lavender had taken on as a regular since their friend and fellow worker, Shirley, had been murdered. Lavender had said she shut out what she was doing while with him—he churned her stomach. Still, he was nice enough, always paid up, so what more could they want in a customer?

  The buzzer went yet again, and she glanced at the CCTV monitors to check who was at the door. Sid Dempsey stood there, and he wasn’t on tonight’s client list. What the fuck did he want?

  Harry and Mickey had been in with him. Sid nicked stuff, Harry and Mickey had sold it. The last time she’d spoken to him, he’d pissed her off, yet again, about where Harry had gone, asking questions, poking into something he shouldn’t be poking into. She could hardly say she’d murdered him, could she, and had implied that if he kept rooting around for information, someone might hear about it and kill him.

  She’d hoped that would keep him at bay. Seemed not.

  He reached up to press the bell again.

  “Hang on,” she shouted, annoyed at just the sight of him on the screen but glad The Brothers had agreed to download whatever it was they needed to keep an eye on the CCTV via their phones and laptops, like Cardigan had. Protection, insurance. She’d have proof of Sid coming here—the app recorded each twenty-four hours then stored them for a month—so if he tried anything funny, he’d be in the shit with Greg and George.

  That wasn’t advisable.

  She swung the door open and glared at him, hip cocked. “What?”

  He blushed. “I need to book an appointment.”

  She almost laughed with relief. “Excuse me? I thought you were a Casanova and had no trouble with the ladies?”

  He was ferret-like in the face, creepy-looking, but oddly, never short of a woman. Maybe he had something decent in his trousers Debbie wasn’t aware of, hence the allure.

  “Um, I need…well, something other birds can’t give me.” He shuffled from foot to foot, one of his trainers squeaking.

  “What sort of thing are you after?” She enjoyed watching him squirm.

  “Erm, extras.”

  “You mean Lavender, yes?”

  His shoulders sagged, and his cheeks flushed. “Yes.”

  “Fancy a bit of BDSM then, do you?”

  “Aww, pack it in, Deb.”

  “It’s Peony when I’m working.”

  He tutted. “All right, Peony. Pack it in.”

  “When do you want an appointment?”

  “Tonight?”

  “Stay there while I consult the diary.”

  She didn’t need to, she knew what times were free, but she had to check with Lavender first. She might not want to entertain him. Door closed in Sid’s face, she walked to Lavender’s and tapped on it.

  “That you, Deb?” came from inside.

  “Yep.”

  “Come in.”

  Debbie pushed through and peered around. No Lavender. She must be in the en suite. Debbie moved to that door, which was ajar, and said, “Dempsey’s here, asking for you. Wants an appointment.”

  Lavender pulled the door wide. “What? That weirdo?”

  “Hmm. What shall I tell him? He wants tonight.”

  “Bloody hell, okay.”

  “He’s after extras.”

  Lavender grinned. “I’ll enjoy whipping that little twat.” Then she winced, as if her mind caught on a memory.

  “You okay?”

  “Yep.”

  Debbie got on with booking him in, sending him on his way for now, then returned to her lukewarm cuppa. She opened a magazine, her usual way to pass the time of an evening and into the early hours, and settled herself to read the first story—MY MUM SLEPT WITH MY BOYFRIEND!—but the buzzer sounded again. CCTV checked, she opened up for the first customer of the night, a man for Iris.

  Life was never dull at The Angel.

  Chapter Two

  The dusty cupboard, full of coats and shoes and a few umbrellas, some that worked, others with broken spokes, tossed in instead of placed in the bin, was Aniyah’s hiding place when things got too much.

  Mum was off on one again. She was always raging about something, the unfairness of life, the cost of living, anything was fair game, but mainly, Dad was her favourite subject. At eight, Aniyah knew all about the badness in the world just from listening to the rants.

  “And he said…well, I’ll tell you what he fucking said. He reckons he can’t give me any more money than he already does, that his hours have been cut. I don’t believe him. It’s because he’s got that new woman, taking her out places and whatever, buying her flowers and shit. I’m not stupid.”

  Mum’s voice, although muffled by the closed cupboard door, was audible enough to pick up every word. It was always the same, a jab at Aniyah’s father, who, in her opinion, was the
greatest thing to ever walk the planet. Tall and big, squishy to cuddle.

  She was what some called ‘half-and-half’, those words shouted at her from across the street, the nasty family opposite thinking nothing of pointing out she had a white mum and a black dad. What did it matter, that was what Aniyah wanted to know, but no one had ever told her why some people had a problem with it.

  She’d ask Dad when he came to pick her up.

  “He’s entitled to have a life,” Willa, the next-door neighbour, said.

  “Entitled?” Mum raged. “Entitled to see someone else? Fucking hell, I’ve heard it all now. He’s not entitled because he didn’t finish it properly with me, did he? He still comes round here trying it on, but I’m not having it.”

  Willa had arrived after Mum had banged on the adjoining wall, her signal she needed help or, in this case, to slag Dad off. It hurt Aniyah’s heart whenever Mum did it. Dad was a kind man, almost always smiling, although his face fell more often than not if Mum put him down when he was here. It was like he didn’t understand why she was so full of anger, why she insisted on hurting him.

  Aniyah didn’t either.

  She shifted position, a shoe heel digging in her bum, and settled into the corner, hugging one of the coats Dad had left behind. It smelt of him, all aftershave and his unique scent, and if she had the guts, she’d take it to her room so she could go to sleep with it in her arms. She could pretend he was with her then.

  He’d be here soon. It was one of the evenings he collected her and took her out, mainly for dinner, but sometimes, he drove to his flat and cooked instead. Aniyah wouldn’t be telling Mum his girlfriend was there every now and then. She already fumed about the woman, although she didn’t know her name, and that puzzled Aniyah, too. Why was she angry about a girlfriend?

  Shona was black. She was nice, baking cakes with Aniyah, and she let her ice them all by herself. She smiled a lot, and her voice was soft, so different to Mum’s, which was harsh from smoking fags and shouting. Dad was happy every time Shona was near, and because of that, Aniyah was happy, too.

  Sometimes, if things got bad, she wished she lived with them. Shona had said she didn’t mind.