Chapter One
ADAM
I swear, in the few weeks that I’ve known of, and ended up practically fucking owned by, the Bennett brothers, I knew this day would come. I knew it. You know how it is… you get told, you’re on the payroll now. Do what you do, but you prioritise a call from us.
And today, that fucking call came.
“Oi, bruv. Seb Bennett here. Meet us in an hour. Got a job for you.” I groaned, wondering what the hell they were about to drag me into.
“Uh… I’m sort of in the middle of…” Fuck all, actually, but I had a bad feeling about this.
“You know how it works, Adam. You received a nice holding fee from us, and in return for our kindness, you’ll assist when needed. You’re fucking needed. I’m texting an address. Be there in an hour.”
His tone made things pretty fucking clear. The two words missing from the end of that sentence. ‘Or else’.
Fuck my life. The text came through with the address, and I bit the bullet. Shrugging on my leather jacket, and gloves, and grabbing my helmet, I strode out onto my driveway, and straddled my motorbike. A Kawasaki ZZR1400. My pride and joy. Sleek, black, and fucking mean. Two hundred horsepower. Perfection.
I mean, the only joy I’d get from this whole fucking thing, would be the ride there. For some reason, I was heading out of town, and to some fucking country address. But the roads would be worth it, at least. They were dry, and it was a gorgeous day. Time to enjoy it, before they fuck up everything.
Heading off across town was the crappy part of the journey, getting stuck in traffic, when I couldn’t edge between cars, and weave my way onto the open road, but once I hit the dual carriageway, it was time to let the bastard fly.
I leaned into every bend and twist in those roads, and rode like it was the last time. I always did that. If I died today, I’d know I’d had a fucking ball on the way.
I’d had the motorbike a year, ever since that bitch left my life for the last time, taking pretty much everything with her. This was my gift to myself, and I loved it more than I’d ever loved her. Almost forty five fucking years old, and this is the first time I’ve found something that truly makes me happy. I thought it’d be a woman. I was wrong.
The dirt track to the house was less fun, but I made it carefully, slowing to a stop beside a black Range Rover. I flicked the side-stand out, and leaned the bike, sliding off, and taking a breath.
For bad guys, they had a pretty fucking house. I felt a wave of panic as I looked at it, knowing that what waited for me inside was probably a life-ending job. This wasn’t what I’d planned, when I’d started my own business. But it was what I’d ended up with.
The door opened, and one of those bastards stared out at me.
“Oi, we haven’t got all fucking day. You wanna take your holiday snaps, then get the fuck in here?”
His abrasive attitude actually helped. I steeled myself, striding to the door, helmet tucked under my arm.
“Eh… I’ve seen better.” He laughed, sounding surprised, and stepped back to let me in.
I mean, if you’d asked me what kind of house fucking mobsters would live in… I’d say, either some big faceless mansion, or a fucking house of horrors. This was neither. I’d stepped into a modern kitchen, with a cosy fucking sitting room to one side, and it looked almost homely.
“Jesus… this guy. He’s gonna spend all day getting interior design ideas.” The Bennett guy muttered, walking around me to the breakfast bar area, where his twin was leaning, staring at me with his eyebrows raised.
“Teller?”
I sighed, looking around for somewhere safe to stow my helmet, and gloves. I marched over to their dining table, and watched them as I placed it carefully on the surface, in case they objected. Slipping my gloves off, I tucked them inside it.
“Do you have a second fucking speed, mate? We’re kind of in a rush here.”
I made my way back to the breakfast bar, shrugging a little.
“Look, I’ll be honest with you guys. I have no fucking idea which of you is which. Wanna clue me in?”
They smirked. The mouthy one from the door preened a little, sliding a hand down his chest. “I’m Seb… the one the girls get wet for.”
His brother, Samuel, shook his head. “In your dreams, you sad prick. I’m Samuel, but then you probably worked that out for yourself, smart fella that you are.”
I grinned, taking a seat at their breakfast bar. When in doubt, act like you own the place. It hasn’t failed me yet.
“No Marco?” I asked, nodding when Samuel offered a coffee.