Vengeful Love (32 page)

“Gregory.”

Sitting up, I wait as first Gregory then the rest of the room comes back to normal.

“Give her this,” Jackson says, handing Gregory a small glass of liquor.

I take it from him and sip. The brandy burns my sore throat.

“Scarlett, I need you to listen to me,” Gregory says. “Can you do that? Can you listen to me?”

I nod.

“When we came home we noticed the tyres of the Mercedes had been slashed. The door from the basement into the building had been broken into. Are you with me?”

“Yes.”

“Jackson put out a radio request for help but it was going to be at least half an hour. We all took the lift to this floor. When we got out of the lift, it was apparent the apartment had been broken into. The door was ajar. Jackson kicked open the door and was immediately shot at. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Tell me what I just told you.”

I repeat Gregory’s explanation verbatim.

“My father ran into another room but we knew he had a gun. You tended to Jackson and I ran to get a gun from my safe. It was the only way we could frighten him because he had a gun. Yes?”

“Yes.”

“I went to find him. I found him in the bathroom and he came straight at me with glass. He managed to dig the glass into my side. That’s how I have this.”

He moves his hand from a wound just below his ribcage. I wince at the sight of blood, congealed and dark.

“When he attacked me, I dropped my gun. I managed to kick the gun from his hand. We were tussling and ended up in the gym. He threw a chain around my neck. We struggled and I thought he was going to kill me. We were on the floor and that’s when I saw the gun. I had no choice. It was self-defence. I picked up the gun and shot him in the head.”

“But—”

“Scarlett!” he shouts, pulling a hand roughly through his hair. “That’s what happened. Say it!”

“But—”

“Scarlett! Say it!”

He’s trying to protect you.
I stare at the thick angry burn mark around his neck.

“Scarlett!” he yells, rattling my body with two hands on my shoulders.

Silent tears fall down my cheeks.

“That’s what happened,” I croak.

Gregory wipes away my tears with his thumbs.

“Now tell me what happened,” he says.

I tell him three times in his words what happened before the police arrive.

* * * * *

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.

I can’t keep living a lie.

He can’t see the only way to set him free is to reveal the truth
.

Read on for a sneak preview of
VENGEFUL LOVE: DECEPTIO
N, the next book in
Laura Carter’s
VENGEFUL LOVE
series

Vengeful Love: Deception

by Laura Carter

Chapter One

Gregory

My Omega tells me it’s been less than one minute since I last watched the second hand tick round. Two twenty-three. It’s been almost three hours since it happened, less than three hours since I watched what I’ve craved for almost three decades unfold. He’s dead. The biggest demon in my life has finally been condemned to the pit of flames he deserves. But it’s not what I imagined. When I’ve thought of this day, I’ve thought that killing him would break the black clouds that have cast a shadow over my existence. Now my black clouds have been replaced with torment.
What have I dragged this sweet girl into?

Fuck.

I rub my hands over my tired face. I can’t sit in this grey, windowless box not knowing where Scarlett is. She should’ve stayed clear of me when she had the chance. I should’ve been fair and stayed clear of her. But I couldn’t. I sought her out like a magnet stalks metal. Those devastating green eyes, the way they turn hazel in a certain light like nothing else I’ve seen. That unbelievable body, curved where it should be, that fucking amazing arse and tits you just want to cup, her perfectly toned, flat stomach. Her skin feels like silk and once you’ve touched her and tasted her, there’s no going back. No other woman could ever be good enough. And she’s smart. Too fucking smart for her own good sometimes, and tougher than she thinks. But not in the bedroom. There, she gives herself to me completely, utterly and I’m desperate to have her all the fucking time. That giggle. I can’t help smiling now as I lean forward over the steel table in front of me. That giggle is so sweet, so innocent. Even when she’s laughing at something only she finds funny—that happens a lot—I can’t help but laugh because it’s such a beautiful fucking sound.

I’ve broken her, corrupted her. Since the day she met me, I’ve turned her world into darkness. I’ve dragged her down to my level.

I stand from my metal chair, kicking it back against the mirrored wall and pace the concrete floor, my hands deep in the pockets of my dinner trousers.
Where is she? What are they doing to her?
She won’t break. She’s stronger than that.
I
know it but does
she
?

I’m going to fix this. If it’s the last thing I ever do. I’ll fix this.

The most peculiar pressure builds behind my eyes and makes them sting. I can’t stand the thought of her trapped in a room like this. She’ll be cold. She’ll be intimidated.

“Fuck! Get a fucking hold of yourself!” I chastise myself through gritted teeth. I need to see her. I need to hold her and make her understand that she’s safe. God, that face, that look in her eyes, she was terrified.

There’s a short tap on the door before it opens and a tall man wearing a cheap brown suit walks in. An off-white shirt hugs his middle-aged spread just above the waistline, part covered by a questionable mustard tie. The cardboard coffee cup in his hand is held as tightly as a full cardboard cup can be held. He’s followed by a short woman with a mousey-brown bun in her hair, wearing a black trouser suit and flat, dull leather shoes. She’s scowling, her brows almost meeting in the middle. She holds one hand on her hip, exposing the gold police badge on her belt.

“Gregory Ryans?”

“Yes,” I say, holding out my hand on instinct.

The man shakes my hand. “I’m Detective Inspector Barnes and this is my colleague—”

The woman holds out her hand. “Trina. I’m Trina.”

She’s a woman out to deny that this is a man’s world but I can tell she’s battling with her inner female.

I’ve affected her. Another woman who sees only my looks. Like most women, like all women before Scarlett Heath swanned into my life in her fitted suits with her white-collar sass. She’s the only woman who’s ever been interested in what’s behind my money, face and clothes. A story I can’t tell her.

It’s unlike Trina to be affected by a man, Barnes’ reaction tells me that. It’s also obvious that these two people don’t see eye to eye.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you both,” I say. “Albeit in the very worst of circumstances.”

Trina flashes a wide, coy smile which she quickly replaces with straight lips.

“Take a seat,” Barnes says, gesturing to the chair that came to rest flush up against the mirrored wall. “You’re a Safa.”

Rolling up the sleeves of my bloodstained shirt, I take a seat. His thoughts are written all over his face—South African, angry, volatile. And not afraid of guns. A jury would love the stereotype.

“Do you need someone to look at that?” Barnes asks, pointing to my cut shirt and the slashed skin at my ribs beneath.

“It’s been patched up but thank you. Fortunately, it’s not as deep as it seems from the mess.”

Barnes nods and pats the old cassette recorder on top of the table. “I’ll be recording your statement. We’ll start with some basic questions, name, date of birth, that sort of thing, then we’ll get to it. Okay?”

I nod, waiting. Barnes hits record and the wheels of the cassette whir into action. His index finger strokes his grey-black beard before he leans back and hangs an elbow over his seat.

“D.I. Barnes accompanied by Katrina Martin. Two thirty-one a.m., Sunday, eight November. Please state your full name and date of birth for the record.”

“Gregory James Ryans. Nine October, nineteen eighty-five.”

“And your address please, Mr. Ryans.”

“One, the Shard, London.”

“Alright. We were called to your apartment this evening, Mr. Ryans, by a member of your Security team, Kenneth Trent. When we arrived we found two men had been shot, one wounded but alive, the other dead. You were injured and a lady was unharmed. Two other men had arrived, one of whom was Kenneth Trent, both men claim they arrived to the scene after the injuries took place. Does that match your understanding?”

“That’s right.”

“Okay. So tell me in your own words what happened tonight. How did you come to be in your apartment and injured?”

“We’d been to a party hosted by my mother at her house in Cobham. It’s an annual thing. My mother’s a handbag designer, she throws the party every year around fireworks night.”

“Cobham, Surrey?”

“Yes.”

“And when you say ‘we,’ who do you mean?”

The image of Scarlett comes to my mind, walking down the stairs, immaculate in her black gown, diamonds glimmering around her delicate neck. Her eyes never left mine as she smiled that mesmerising smile, until she reached me. I had to remind myself to breathe. My eyes close as I think of the kiss that followed, her soft lips against mine.

“Mr. Ryans?”

“Sorry, it’s been a long night. Scarlett Heath. I was at the party with Scarlett Heath and my driver.”

“Jackson?”

He knows him. I nod.

“For the tape please.”

“Yes, Jackson is my driver.”

“We spoke to Geoffrey Jackson and he called himself your bodyguard,” Trina adds. “Why would you need a bodyguard?”

Clearing my throat, I turn on my best impression of modesty. “I’m a very wealthy man. Wealth can breed enemies, whether you’re a good man or not.”

“Mmm hmm, and are you? Are you a good man, Mr. Ryans?”

“I’d like to think so.”

“Thank you, Mr. Ryans.” Barnes interjects whilst shooting Trina a glare. “You were at your mother’s party, go on.”

I rub a hand through my hair, pressing my fingertips firmly into my scalp. I need to concentrate. I need to get this right.
God, I need to know where she is. I need to see her.

“We left the party after eleven sometime, just as the fireworks were starting, maybe closer to midnight.”

Trina snorts, an awful, butch sound. “You left the firework party before the fireworks started?”

I’d be irritated by her but I’m consumed by the memory of
that
dance and the desire Scarlett and I both had, the need we had to get home. I was desperate to feel Scarlett’s skin on mine, to satisfy my growling erection inside her.

“Yes.” I throw a brief and knowing look at Barnes.

He continues his questions. “Scarlett Heath is your...girlfriend?”

He startles me. I clear my throat again. “We know each other romantically.”

Trina rolls her eyes. She’s annoyed. Her flushes and smiles are replaced with a moody pout.

“Where did you go when you left the party?”

“Jackson drove us to my apartment. When we got to the car park at the Shard, we noticed that the tyres of my Mercedes had been slashed. I grabbed Scarlett.”
There was no gun
, I remind myself. “Jackson led the way to the lift vestibule. The door into the lift had been tampered with.”

“We need to check the CCTV,” Trina states, making a note in a small, ring-bound notepad with a
really
cheap plastic pen.
Why don’t people grasp that a pen speaks volumes about a person?

“That’s been done, Trina. It’s clear.” Barnes flicks his eyes to me. He knows the tapes were cleaned. I get the feeling he’s more than just familiar with Jackson too.
Let’s see how this pans out.

“You say the door was tampered with?” Barnes asks.

“Forced open. We took the lift to my floor and when we got out, the door to the apartment was open. Ajar. Jackson kicked it and was shot as soon as he stepped into the apartment. I think I told Scarlett to look after him, I can’t remember exactly but that’s what she did. I knew the intruder had a gun and I knew I could only match that with a gun, so I went to the safe and took Jackson’s Glock from it.”

Trina jumps in. “Where exactly is the safe?”

“In my office.”

“Where’s that?”

I know what she’s getting at, sweat starts to form on my palms but I don’t show my nerves. I’ve spent my life hiding emotions, it’s second nature. “The second floor. Upstairs.”

“Mmm hmm. So you, in your frantic state, had time to run upstairs, obtain a gun and come back down. In the meantime the attacker just, what, hid?”

Bitch
. “With all due respect, Katrina, I don’t know what he did. I was upstairs.”

Barnes’ lips begin to tip but he puts a closed fist to his mouth until he’s composed. “Go on, Mr. Ryans. You came back downstairs with the gun.”

“Yes. Then I went to find him. There are two rooms off the lounge, a bathroom and a gym. I went into the bathroom where I thought sound was coming from. He came at me, ran at me. We tussled and the mirror broke. He picked up a shard of glass and ripped it into my side.” I raise my arm and remind them both of my injury. “We kept fighting, somehow we ended up in the gym room. I tried to kick the guns out of reach but only managed one before he pulled a chain around my neck. I struggled, we were thrashing around, I fell to the floor in the lounge and he was pulling on the chain. I couldn’t breathe and I could feel myself slipping, things going dark and blurred. He was killing me. Then I saw the gun I’d kicked, on the floor, just within my reach. Things started to go black. I snatched the gun, and just shot it at him. I didn’t aim for his head but that’s where the bullet wound up. I was shocked, stunned. I didn’t know what to do. I crawled to Jackson and Scarlett and that’s when the security guys came in.”

I’ve done it. It’s out there. Now Scarlett just has to keep to the story. I pull my hands through my hair and let my head hang, relieved that my statement is on the record and it’s the story I intended to tell.

“Who was the man you killed, Mr. Ryans?” Trina’s tone is clipped, offensive.

I sigh. It’s still going.

“He was my biological father.”

“And why would your own father want to kill you?”

My dislike of this woman is increasing at a rate of knots. My temper is building. I turn my fist in the palm of my other hand on my lap. “I bought his company to sell it off.”

“Forgive my naivety, Mr. Ryans, I’m not a business woman but surely buying companies happens all the time and people don’t kill each other over it.”

It’s a statement. Had it been a question I might’ve been inclined to enlighten her on how corrupt the world of business can be. But I won’t.

“The company was his life, his prize possession, the only thing he’s ever treated with respect and cared for.”

“So why would he sell it?”

“Because I offered him an awful lot of money to buy it, Miss Martin, and the other key trait my father possessed was greed.”

“This isn’t the first time you’ve been in a police station, Mr. Ryans, is it?” She catches me off guard and she knows it. A sadistic smile begins to turn on her lips as my jaw drops open and slowly closes again without making a sound.

“To what are you referring, Miss Martin?”

“Oh, there’s been more than one other time?”

“Stop playing games, Trina,” Barnes cuts in. “Ask him a question with purpose or we’ll wrap this up.”

She puffs and scowls at her senior. “You gave a statement once as a boy. In South Africa.”

She’s trying to establish motive. It’s underhanded, it’s dirty but she’s played the game well.

“That has nothing to do with this case.”

“I beg to differ, Mr. Ryans. I think it has a
lot
to do with this case. You once gave a statement that your father—”

“Enough!” I snap, standing and pushing my chair back. “I made a statement as a ten-year-old boy. I’m thirty years old, Miss Martin. I’ve lived a life since I was that little boy. I see what you’re doing. I see your game but that ten-year-old boy won’t give you a motive. The reason, the
only
reason, I shot a man tonight is because he would have killed me if I hadn’t. Am I sorry that a man died tonight? Of course I am. Will it haunt me every day for the rest of my life? Of course it will. But am I sorry that if someone had to die tonight it wasn’t me or, worse still, Jackson or Scarlett? No.”

I rest back into my chair and soften my tone.
Time to play the man.
I gaze into her eyes until she shifts awkwardly in her seat and I wait until her pupils lock on mine. I lure her in. “I’m just a man, Katrina. I took a life to save my own. Don’t I deserve to live?”

Her lips part with her breath as she slowly moves her head up and down.