inside the club, Lawson’s arm around Cheska’s waist. I curled my hand around the knife in my pocket and fought the urge to follow them. I had just taken a deep breath when my mobile rang in my pocket. I took it out and saw my dad’s name.
“Dad,” I said, my eyes still fixed on Lawson through the window, at the bar with Cheska. She was smiling at him. She clearly knew him well.
“I need you to pay your Uncle Johnny Bailey a visit.”
“What kind of visit?” I asked. My mates gathered around, watching me.
“A thorough one,” Dad said.
I nodded at Charlie, and he took out his mobile and called for our transport. “We’ll go see him now.” I headed away from the club and toward the main road.
“Silly wanker has been giving away presents left, right and centre, and we know he can’t afford it,” my dad said. That was code, just in case Scotland Yard or some other agency were listening in trying to get something on our firm—that would never happen. We were too fucking careful.
Dad was telling me that Johnny was keeping the blow profits for himself instead of sending them back to London like a good boy. Didn’t matter that he’d been in my old man’s inner circle for years back in London, running one of the routes here in Marbella for only the last few years. Dad was ruthless. And he wanted me and my boys to send a message to anyone else on foreign shores who tried to steal from the Adley firm.
“I’ll call you later,” I said and hung up.
By the time we made it to the main road, a blacked-out van was waiting for us. We climbed in and Eric shut the door. My mates looked at me. “You ready for some more fun?” I asked, and each one of them smiled.
We pulled in to a villa far away from anyone and anything. The driver of the van hit the headlights as we travelled down the gravelled roads that led to Johnny’s villa and the basement he kept the gear in. I didn’t want him knowing we were coming. Wanted to catch that fucker by surprise.
We stopped outside the villa, and I climbed out the passenger side. I walked up the main path to the front door, my men at my back. I didn’t knock or ring the bell. I shouldered the door, snapping the lock. My eyes scanned the villa and the staircase that led upstairs. No fucker was here.
“The basement,” Charlie said, moving beside me. “I can hear music.” I cocked my head to the side and heard it too, drifting up through the kitchen. I nudged my head in that direction. Feeling in my pocket for my knife, I opened the basement door and went down the steps. The music became clearer, and as we descended, so did the view. Table after long table of blow, Johnny’s men stuffing it into packets. Then, at the front, smoking a cig and sat like a fucking usurper king on a wingback chair, was Johnny.
His head snapped up. I kept my eyes on him. For a second, I saw real fucking fear flash over his face. Then he schooled his expression and got to his feet. I glanced at my brothers behind me and gave them a short nod—get the fuck ready to play.
“Artie, get the fuck over here and give your Uncle Johnny a hug. I didn’t know you were coming over to see an old geezer like me.” I made my way over to him, watching his men in my peripheral. They were reaching under the tables. No doubt for guns.
I stopped in front of Johnny. His face was red as fuck, and the thieving twat was sweating, drops dripping down his mottled skin and crashing onto the blow-covered floor beneath our feet. He flicked his cig to the ground, then opened his arms. I didn’t fucking move. Just stared at the wanker with dead eyes. Johnny swallowed, and his beady eyes moved to my men, who were just waiting for my signal to unleash hell on these cunts.
“Still a moody fucker, I see,” he tried to joke. He reached out and pulled me into his embrace. “Artie. No hug for your old uncle?” he said when my arms stayed at my sides.
Placing my mouth near his ear, I said quietly, “Why the fuck would I hug the man who is stealing from his fucking family?” He tensed. Then