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“It’s no coincidence, huh. The bastards want us on the back foot so we’ll stay out of the way while they stitch Roxy up.”
“I don’t understand how they have enough to arrest her. She’s never—” Zak’s words come to an abrupt halt, and I look up to see what stopped him. His face is a picture of concentration, and I can almost see his mind working from here.
“What is it?”
“The photos.” Before I can ask him what he’s talking about, he’s up and out of his seat and rushing upstairs.
I hear him curse like a damn sailor when he sees the state his room is in, and then I hear him crashing and banging about for a couple of minutes before thudding back down the stairs. He comes in carrying a box, and I don’t need an explanation, I already know what he keeps in there.
Flipping the lid off, he pulls out a stack of photos, and at the very top of the pile is a photo of Roxanne holding my gun. The one Theo gifted to me just before we were properly inducted into the family. The one that went missing after a break in at our old flat 4 years ago. And the one that Rogers used to murder his father.
“What the fuck! I’d forgotten all about these.” I snatch the photo from him. My eyes drift over Roxanne, taking in her stance, what she’s wearing and the look on her face.
I lift my eyes from Zak, who isn’t paying me any attention as he goes through the whole pile. When he reaches the end, he finally looks up at me.
“What’s the matter?” I ask, but I know whatever he’s going to say isn’t good.
“There was another photo, almost identical to this one. I remember because I took it. It showed Rox with a fag dangling from her mouth—”
“Pretending to light it with the gun. Yes, I remember. But where is it?”
He raises a pierced brow at me. “Good fucking question!” He points to the picture I’m holding. “I only took two photos of her holding that gun, and neither of us were ever in the shots.”
I think about that for a second. “If, and it’s a big fucking if, they have the photo, it’s not enough to charge her, even with the gun in their possession. How’d they even get the photo?”
“The same time they got the gun, Mad. Think about it. The flat had been turned upside-fucking-down, and I remember these pictures were strewn all across the floor. I didn’t think anything of it at the time because we had bigger things to think about.”
I remember exactly what bigger things he’s talking about. Theo was in the hospital after a failed attempt to take him out. No doubt Rogers’ first attempt, which failed thanks to me. And we were just discovering some pretty fucked up news ourselves.
If Zak is right, how much of this was premeditated by Rogers? The break-in came only a few days after the first attempt on Theo, and Rogers has always known I had that gun. He was even there the night Theo passed it on to me. However, there is no way he could possibly have known about those photos, is there?
Maria places a plate in front of each of us and shuts down our protests of not being hungry with nothing more than a look before she disappears off upstairs.
I manage half a plate of food before I shove it aside and get to my feet.
“Where you going?” Zak asks around a mouthful of food.
“The Scarlet Door. I want to check out the damage, and then I’m going hunting.” I storm from the room with Zak following behind and grumbling about not being finished, but I ignore him and continue out the door.
***
At The Scarlet Door, things aren’t as bad as we thought. Although, the place is empty, which isn’t a surprise given the cops were crawling all over it not less than two hours ago, everyone is fine. Ripley shows us the warrant that the cop slapped into his chest when they burst through the doors. As my eyes run over it, my anger builds at the reasons listed for why it was issued.
I screw it up, tossing it on the bar. “This is fucking bullshit!”
A few of the girls are huddled together in one of the booths chatting while the rest have gone home, and they look up as my voice rises.
“They’re just trying to rattle us that’s all. And they’ve got nothing.”
Before I can open my mouth to reply the doors burst open and in walks Rocky, but he’s not alone and is dragging a dishevelled Marchant with him.
“What the fuck is going on,” I demand as Rocky stops in front of us and ignore the protests spewing from Marchant as he’s forced to his knees in front of me.
“This little fucker knows where your last shipment went. Seems he’s been doing a little double dealing,” Rocky barks, gripping Marchant’s hair and yanking his head up so I can look at his face.
Ripley quickly tells the girls to leave and locks the front door as they scurry off out the back.
I tilt my head. “Is that so,” I say with an air of calmness, but beneath it is a bubbling vat of rage. Every ounce of anger I feel is now being channelled at this snivelling piece of shit before me. I draw my arm back ready to strike, but Zak stops me.
