Even Angels Fall (38 page)

“I don’t know who that is…”

“Is that so? I find that rather hard to believe…”

“It’s true…” Peter pleads, “I’ve never heard of an Alex Matthews…” Before he can elaborate further Marcus swings his arm back again, this time punching him hard on the side of the jaw. There is a rush of warmth in Peter’s mouth and he leans forward, resting his damp head on the cold ground while spitting out the torrent of blood that is gushing from the wound inside his now swollen cheek.

“I’ll ask you again, how do you know Alex Matthews?” Peter rocks back on his heels and looks the brutish stranger in the expensive suit, square in the eyes.

“I promise you… I don’t know who you think I am, but I have no idea who you are or who Alex Matthews is…” He closes his eyes and braces himself for another bout of pain but nothing comes. As he slowly glances round he can see that the man is now talking to two others - no doubt the lackeys who picked him up and brought him here - over in the far corner of the vast room.

But what is he doing here at all? Who the hell is this Matthews guy and why do they think he has something, anything, to do with him? The excruciating pain is starting to affect Peter and he can feel his eyelids drooping. He is on the verge of blacking out, but he can’t lose consciousness again, not here; god knows what they will do to him. The length of rope binding his wrists together is slicing and cutting into his skin and it burns every time he flinches. The first punch has left him with a sharp, throbbing pain in the side of his head and the sensation of blood in his mouth is making him feel nauseous. After what seems like the longest time, the thug approaches him again, more than likely to start the second round of violent questioning.

“You say you don’t know Matthews, but you obviously know his girl… how the fuck can that be?”

“His girl…?” Peter coughs and spits up another mouthful of blood. The anger and irritation in Marcus’s face flares and he grabs Peter by the throat, squeezing his hand tightly around it so that he can’t breathe, “I am trying to decide whether you are incredibly brave or seriously fucking stupid right about now son… but if I can give you once piece of advice? Do NOT fuck with me…”

As he releases his grip Peter drops back onto the floor and inhales deeply, struggling for breath as his crushed throat slowly opens back up. He is slipping, slipping away to a quiet place, but he can hear the three of them talking again and a distant voice stands out, clearer than the others.

“It was definitely him, boss. He went into the pub with her… then he came out on his own…”

Peter runs the words through his fractured mind, over and over again. The pub…? ‘In with her then out on his own…’ He is talking about this afternoon with Abbey. That’s where all of this started, where they must have followed him from. God this has something to do with his sister, his baby sister.

“No…” Peter gasps, faintly, and once again he is hoisted to his knees.

“No…? No, what…?”

“What do you want with her…?” He asks without thinking.

“Oh so you’ve decided to co-operate have you?” Marcus’s response sounds overly cheerful but his friendly demeanour is quickly counteracted by a sharp punch to the stomach, followed by a right hook to the left side of Peter’s jaw, “It’s not her I’m all that bothered about to be honest…” He continues, as if he hasn’t just winded a man and fractured his face, “It’s more her arrogant little fuck of a boyfriend that I’m keen to get my hands on…”

“Her boyfriend… I don’t… I don’t know…”

“Jesus Christ…” Marcus stands up straight and fastens his suit jacket, staring down at Peter with nothing but anger and contempt, “You’ve brought me a real fix here fella’s, great fucking work…!”

“She’s my sister…” Peter gasps, his voice becoming weaker as he drifts in and out of lucidity.

“You’re sister?”

“Yes…”

“Well, your sister has recently become involved with a young man that I happen to want dead. He crossed me, more than once… he did this to my fucking face and NO ONE gets away with crossing Marcus Holt…”

“Please… please don’t hurt her…” Peter struggles to keep his eyes open as his speech begins to slur. He can’t hold on much longer.

“And give me one good reason why I shouldn’t?” Marcus laughs, maliciously.

“What… do you want…?” Peter is slipping further down into the blackness, barely able to control his thoughts let alone engage in conversation with this total psychopath.

“I tell you what. I promise I won’t hurt your sister. I will keep her out of this, as long as you tell me what I want to know…”

Peter tries to form his mouth around the word ‘what’ but it comes out as a quiet cough and Marcus slaps him hard around the face. It hurts, but it is nothing compared to the previous blows, he is simply trying to keep him awake so that they can finish their bargaining.

“I am only going to ask you this once. If you answer me honestly, my boy’s will drop you off where they found you and all this will be over…” Marcus raises his eyebrows and Peter manages to nod despite the searing pain and high pitched ringing in his ears, “Now, it is common knowledge that Matthew’s and his crew frequent The Locke, the pub you and your sister were in this afternoon… but they haven’t been around in a while and I so desperately need to see young Alex and have several harsh words with him. So, you’re going to tell me the truth, and you are going to tell me right now, do you understand….?”

“Yes…” Peter whispers the word so quietly it is barely audible and Marcus leans in closer, his whiskey soaked breath stinging Peter’s eyes as he pronounces each word through gritted teeth.

“Where does Matthew’s live?”

Peter lies on his bed staring vacantly at the ceiling, unable to move even a fraction due to the unbearable pain shooting through every limb. He feels like he has been hit by a freight train and although he is utterly exhausted, he can’t fall asleep.

After he had answered Marcus’ brutal interrogation the best he could, his two men had dropped him back - as promised - right where they picked him up from earlier that day, simply throwing him into a ditch at the side of the road. He managed to stagger into a more populated area closer to the city centre and it was there that two passers-by called an ambulance, kindly sitting with him until it arrived. He was treated and released within a few hours and once Anna had stopped screaming and crying at the sight of him, she just about managed to drive him home and help him into bed.

She kept asking who had done this to him but he couldn’t bring himself to tell her the truth, claiming instead that he had been jumped by a gang of youths. The whole family are seriously worried about Abbey and have been ever since she left home. Now it appears that things are far more serious and fucked up than any of them could ever have imagined. How can she possibly be involved with these people? Who are these friends she is staying with and who is this so called boyfriend with such frightening enemies? None of it adds up or makes any sense.

Peter had of course tried ringing Abbey, over and over again, but as usual it went straight through to her voicemail. He doesn’t know what else to do now or how to help his sister and he is terrified that the information he gave to this thug Marcus will somehow put her in more danger than she appears to be in already.

Ever since Abbey ran away from home Peter had been desperate to find out where she was living, but for the first time today he was truly grateful that he had never managed to discover her exact address, as Marcus no doubt would have beat it out of him eventually. All he could tell them was the name of the apartment block and the street it is on and he feels unbelievably guilty for giving even that much away. He feels as though he has betrayed his own sister and put her life on the line. Marcus had promised that he would leave her out of it but he doesn’t exactly seem like a man of his word or someone who can be trusted. Either way, it is too late now. All Peter can do is pray to god that if and when Marcus finally discovers where Abbey and this Alex Matthews are living, she is somewhere far, far away - out of danger where she can’t be harmed.

Unbeknownst to Peter, Abbey is further away than he ever could have imagined; far from the flat, from Leeds and from the threat of Marcus Holt. She sits quietly, staring out of the small, circular plane window down at the Irish Sea below. The seatbelt signs ping and light up as the stewardess announces cheerfully over the tannoy that they will be landing at Belfast City Airport within the next half an hour. Alex clips his seatbelt together and reaches for Abbey’s hand, taking it gently in his, and she smiles at him as he squeezes it reassuringly. He hasn’t spoken much during the flight, no doubt preoccupied with what is happening back at home with Marcus and Moorland. He isn’t used to being in the dark and it isn’t something he handles well.

Once the decision to split up the group had been made, the plan was instigated with lightning speed. After saying a tearful goodbye to the others, Abbey and Alex had packed their cases, locked up the flat and driven straight to Leeds and Bradford Airport. Alex had managed to book a last minute flight online and they made it with only minutes to spare, rushing through the departure lounge as though they were fleeing for their lives. ‘I suppose in a way we are…’ Abbey muses to herself, as the coast line of Northern Ireland looms ever closer. She has barely had time to think, to breathe, to process… and now here she is, sitting on a plane as it turns and slowly descends into Alex’s homeland. First Harper, then her brother… and now an unscheduled getaway. It really has been the most insane 24 hours of her life.

Once they have collected their luggage from the arrivals gate, they make their way over to the car hire business at the far side of the building. The man behind the counter takes Alex’s details and asks him how long he requires the vehicle for, which completely throws him. He has no idea how long this will take or how quickly Marcus will make his move and as a result, they could be in Ireland for quite some time. In the end they settle for two weeks, in the knowledge that if they need to extend the lease they can do so over the phone.

The incredibly polite and helpful manager walks them to the underground garage and shows them to the shiny new Volvo that will be theirs for the duration of the trip. As Alex settles into the driver’s seat and starts the engine, a huge, unexpected smile slowly spreads across his face. It’s as though Abbey can physically see all the anger, tension and worry draining away and he is suddenly the much younger, happier, care free Alex that she adores. It’s a side of him that she hasn’t seen in so long.

“Let’s go…” He grins, as they exit the garage onto the main road and drive out into the early evening sun.

The journey to Ballycastle takes just over an hour and Abbey savours every second of the scenery as they head out of the bustling City of Belfast and up to the very tip of County Antrim. She has never been to Ireland before - and the scenery is breath-taking.

As they drive through the little coastal town where Alex was born, she imagines an adorable little boy with dark, chocolate brown hair and bright blue eyes, skipping through the market stalls and laughing with his mother. It is hard to picture Alex in the innocence of childhood; somehow the two don’t quite mix.

“How are you feeling?” She asks impulsively, saddened by the direction her thoughts have taken.

“I’m fine. Are you OK?” He replies, concerned.

“Yeah, I just… I only ask because it must be strange for you, being back here after all this time. It must bring back a lot of memories…”

“Yeah, I suppose it does…” Alex sighs after a long pause, and Abbey can see a brief flash of sadness in his eyes before the walls close around him once more. She isn’t going to get anything out of him, at least not right now.

“So where are we staying?” She asks, curiously, and Alex’s mouth twitches up into her favourite smirk.

“Just a little further…”

They carry on driving down towards the sea front and round past the little Marina, where dozens of boats of all colours and sizes, bob gently on the waves. The coastline is absolutely stunning and as they cross a small bridge and veer left, Alex points towards the horizon.

“That’s Fair Head…” He announces, and Abbey follows his gaze to a huge cliff face in the distance, rising high out of the bay, with dark jagged rocks cascading down into the ocean. The beach sweeps round in an elegant curve beneath it, back towards the Marina which is now much smaller, below them in the distance. It is a beautiful and dramatic sight.

As Abbey stares out across the ocean she suddenly becomes aware that they are driving quite far out of town. The road they are on is quiet, scenic and very secluded. She is about to ask how much further, when they round another bend and a pretty little cottage comes into view. It is built with white stone and is surrounded by flowers and rose bushes. Alex pulls the car up onto a grass verge beside it and turns off the engine, smiling sweetly.

“Home sweet home…” He sings, and despite everything that has happened in recent months, Abbey can’t help but return his smile with enthusiasm.

For the first time since the trip was planned, she actually feels excited about being here. Up until now she viewed it purely as a getaway, as a place where they can hide from danger until the worst is over and they are summoned back to Leeds by Moorland. But now that they have actually arrived she feels a total sense of release. They are far, far away from all their problems. Nothing and no one can touch them here and it makes Abbey feel almost elated. For now, it is just her and Alex, the two of them existing together in their perfect little bubble. She misses the others terribly; they are both still deeply worried about Tom, and no matter how far she runs she can never truly escape her family problems. But here, surrounded by the outstanding beauty of the North Antrim Coast, she finds it much easier to let her worries slip away for a while.

The little cottage is gorgeous. The open plan living room is warm and inviting, with an authentic log fire and a bay window that looks out for miles across the North Sea. There are two sofas and a coffee table arranged neatly on a huge cream rug that covers a large section of the laminate floor in the centre of the room. In the far right hand corner is a door that leads into the quaint little kitchen, with its slate tiled floor and country style, cream units.