Page 67 of Cruel Hearts

“Like fuck.” I flung my head back and slammed it into his face. Pain radiated through the back of my skull, but it was nothing compared to the agonized bellow that rattled my eardrums.

The thug released his grip, and I spun around, poker raised to do maximum damage.

“Wait!” His hand shot up.

“Why, so you can take me to Billy Hancock?”

“Your mum sent us.”

I held the poker like a baseball bat. “Why?”

“Billy’s been shot. He wants to see you one last time.”

Every ounce of blood drained from my face. People got stabbed all the time in Richley, but shootings were rare and didn’t happen to guys as high up in the hierarchy as Billy Hancock. I’d always thought of the man as invincible.

Gasping for air, I lowered the poker. “What?”

“It’s true.” He raised both hands, trying to calm me like I was an enraged bull.

A lump formed in my throat. “But he only just got out of prison.”

“It was the Nelson brothers. They didn’t want to release the turf they’d gained while Billy was inside.”

“How do I know this isn’t a trap?” If snatching me from the fashion show wasn’t an option, Billy Hancock would trick me into coming to him to face my punishment.

“Abby left you a message last night. Did you not check your voicemail?”

My heart sank. I’d switched my SIM card months ago and hadn’t thought to tell Mother my new number.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded scrap of paper. “Here, take it.”

Gripping the poker like it was the only thing protecting me from becoming a dog’s chew toy, I snatched the note.

Lilah,

Please come to London with Tom and Greg. I sent them up here to fetch you because Billy got shot last night. They’ve rushed him to surgery, but things aren’t looking too hopeful. You need to come at least to say goodbye.

Love,

Mum

The back of my throat ached, and I swallowed hard. “I tried calling her earlier.”

“She’s probably been at St. Luke’s all night.” The man raised his broad shoulders. “You know how devoted Abby is to Billy.”

I did. Mother always took Billy Handcock’s side, no matter what. Shaking off the resentful thoughts, I asked, “How are we getting there?”

A black car waited outside the gates of Mr. Burgh’s quarters, as quiet as a hearse. I stood on the doorstep, shuddering at the icy breeze swirling through my woolen blazer and hoped I was doing the right thing.

My heart weighed in my chest like a boulder. I was either walking to my death or about to witness the last moments of my stepfather, or according to Father Neapolitan’s accusations, my birth father. It didn’t matter that I despised his guts, Billy Hancock had been my only father figure.

Greg, the thug who I hadn’t attacked with the poker, placed a comforting hand on my shoulder. “The sooner we set off, the sooner we can catch a flight down south.”

“Right.” I nodded and descended the steps.

Tom slumped in the front seat of the car, holding a handkerchief to his head. Tamping down the guilt roiling in my belly, I stepped into the back seat. They shouldn’t have broken into Mr. Burgh’s house if they didn’t want me to attack them with a poker.

Greg got into the driver’s seat, and the other door flew open. I turned to find Maxwell peering through the door.