Page 27 of Indie

Fury tensed, something suddenly serious on his face, catching my eye, an instruction I understood without him saying anything. I dismissed the meeting, beckoning to Fury to stay, and we watched everyone else trudge out.

“What is it?” I asked, wondering what the next bit of good news was going to be.

“Something you ought to know,” he said when the room settled into silence.

I could feel the apprehension spilling off him, unease clear on his face.

“Fuck’s sake, spit it out, Fury.”

“Emmie’s ex.”

“What about him?” I asked, now suddenly interested in what Fury had to say.

“He runs with the aces, Indie. You still want that instruction you just gave to stand?”

Now that order I gave was no longer just business. And now I wanted that bastard to know I was part of them. Part of one of the biggest MCs in the north of England that they’d just tried to fuck over. And I wanted to take the buffer off Demon and let him go all out. But it was Emmie’s ex, and the father of her children. And I wasn’t sure how easy that would sit with her if she knew I’d had him murdered. I thought for a moment, pondering over my options. But it wouldn’t take a murder. When I’d broke his nose the other night in the garage, he and his mates had fled like a bunch of pussies. And that seemed to be the extentof the Aces. I didn’t think Demon would even need to break any bones to get the point across.

“No. We’re not changing tack. Fury, tell Demon. Make sure the message is put across. But don’t kill anyone and definitely no one that looks like Emmie’s ex.”

Chapter Thirteen

“Hey,” Ste croaked.

“How’re you feeling today?” I asked, moving round to his bedside.

“Like death warmed up here.”

The twinkle in his eyes was there still, not as bright, not with as much energy, but it was still there. But that energy didn’t quite reach his voice. Ste had stabilised over the last two days, the antibiotics finally winning over the stubborn infection that had ravaged his body, weak from the cancer. His skin was greyer than I had ever seen it, like a living corpse, and his eyes had sunken into his face, dark bags of skin sagging underneath.Cheekbones jutted out at an angle, more prominent than ever before, and if it hadn’t been for the white goatee covering his chin, he would have looked almost skeletal.

I’d seen this so often. Patients ready to be taken, their bodies ready to give over to death but fighting out the last few moments as they clung to life. Ste’s body had brought one more fight, the last stand in defiance of the disease, waking in the early hours of one morning when I was on the night shift. The old man was confused at first and then almost disappointed when he realised the sterility of a hospital still surrounded him, connected to tubes and wires, and still in pain. But despite all that, there was a smile for me when he came to, when we’d removed the intubation that had by now scarred his lungs even more.

I’d worked nights the last four or five days, Lily and Luke at my mother’s and Gaz nowhere to be seen. Yet the peace was unsettling, wondering when he would be back, knowing that this wasn’t forever and that this would never last.

Morning was breaking over the east, a red-orange glow splitting the darkness in two, the nights growing longer day by day. And every night a different car sat outside my house, another member of Indie’s bike club keeping an eye on me. The twenty-four-hour vigil continuing, someone always nearby, never moving far from my doorstep, following me into work and waiting for me. They never approached, never spoke, made no connection with me whatsoever. I always knew they were there watching, and despite the weirdness of it all, I felt oddly calm and protected. With no Gaz to continue to take my money off me nearly every payday, my bank account looked the healthiest it had ever been in the last few months and years. There was foodin my fridge, and hot water when I needed it. But there was no Indie.

I’d not seen or heard from him over the last few days, a continual period on nights not helping. Each day led to new disappointment, each day when I didn’t see him at work, or watching me from outside my house.

This morning was colder and darker, autumn fighting winter but losing every day. The darkness felt overwhelming today, a tiredness creeping through my bones from continued night shifts and time spent without my kids. And for the first time, there was no car parked in the street, no one watching over me. Disappointment dealt me a heavy blow, a blunt force trauma, and a sudden pang of nausea. Maybe they’d just been busy? Maybe they’d all had something else to do and just tonight they couldn’t be here? It was such a treacherous emotion, hope. Always there to cheer you up and then deflate you in a second. Unrealistic. Unwelcome. Uncertain.

Stepping out of the car into the fading night, I twisted the key in the lock, the electric central locking no longer working. I checked my surroundings, the hostility of the darkness making me feel vulnerable, agitating my nerve endings. I stared left and then right, searching in the shadows, watching for movement, for shadows moving in shadows. Everyone was sleeping except for me.

The garden gate was open when I got to it, the first sign of something not right. I always shut my gate. Always. I swallowed, pulling myself together, searching for the rational in my irrational. Someone might have pushed something through the letterbox, junk mail or something, and then left the gate open. A flicker of movement at the door caught my eye, shadowsresonating against each other, worry expanding within me again.

I took a step back, ready to bolt, my brain lagging.

“Emmie, it’s okay. It’s just me.”

The voice was low, but in the rising panic that filled my head, I couldn’t think. I stepped backwards again, clutching my bag against me, waiting for the first blow to come, for that punishment I knew he would deal out at the first chance he got. And now, without them watching, he had that chance.

“Emmie, Spuggy, it’s me. It’s Indie. It’s okay.”

My heart drummed against my chest, the frantic rhythm not slowing. Even now, he’d identified himself. Yet as the panic faded, and the fog that filled my brain cleared, I could make him out in the shadows. He stepped closer, the dull streetlight just lighting him enough to show the leather trousers pulled tight round his legs and the black jacket with a leather waistcoat over the top. It was just Indie. Dressed head to toe in leather, tall and captivating, my eyes scanning over him, not taking anything in, but seeing everything, from the way the arms of the jacket pulled tight over the biceps, to the way the leather gathered at his groin.

“What are you doing here?” I asked when my ability to speak returned.

“Just thought I’d call in to see you.”

“At 4 o’clock in the morning?”