“Owned by the Bromley Brothers. Why?” Of course. What are you up to, angel?

  She must be doing something with the Bromley Brothers because they’re the closest link to her brother. And she must not trust me to follow it up. She’s losing faith, and panic creeps over me at the thought.

  “Book them in for an appointment tomorrow.”

  “Sure,” he replies easily.

  I hang up, focusing on the headlights ahead of me. He takes the route to Eden’s apartment block, and I drop back, stopping on the road across from the car park. The moon is so bright that it illuminates everything. I clearly see Eden get out of the car without hesitation and hurry along the path to her building. She shouldn’t be out here dressed like that. It invites attention. Someone may think they can have what isn’t theirs to touch. Oh, how I would enjoy severing their fingers from their body one at a time.

  The man in the Mercedes lingers, and I know he’s watching her, probably every bit as keenly as I am. Does he want her? Who is he to her? A boyfriend? I hadn’t considered this possibility. But surely she knows that he isn’t worthy of her. He’s a sinner — filthy, tainted.

  Eventually, he pulls away, driving right past me in a flurry of wheel spin. I remain there for long hours, watching Eden’s window. Waiting. I can’t say what keeps me here night after night, but I can’t look away.

  Finally, her light goes off, and I surmise that she’s managed to sleep. Strange. She rarely sleeps.

  Perhaps she’s coming to terms with the notion that her brother is probably dead.

  Give her something no one else can.

  Billy and Brad Bromley. They sound like cartoon characters, but they’re far from it. The Bromley Brothers are notorious in South London. Drugs, women, illegal fights – human and animal, and money laundering…for me. They have their fingers in many, many pies, and they’re despicable individuals. I avoid dealing with them at all cost because simply being near them sullies me. They’re usually Jase’s problem, but today I need something from them. Jase lingers near the bar, waiting to mediate if necessary. I can sense his edginess from here. He thinks I’ll offend some of his precious cleaners. He values them as business assets. I see nothing but filthy sinners.

  Billy is an older man, rake thin with a t-shirt several sizes too big hanging from his skeletal frame. He’s jittery, his eyes always darting around as though he expects to be attacked at any moment. I suspect it’s the paranoia — taking your own product is non-beneficial for multiple reasons. His brother has even less regard for his appearance with a matching tracksuit stretched over his beer gut. His greasy hair is pulled into a ponytail at the base of his neck, accentuating his receding hairline. I do so loathe shabbiness. To have a lack of respect for one’s self is one thing, but to show me that same disrespect…

  “I wish to make a deal with you.”

  Brad cocks a brow, tipping back his glass of whiskey in two large gulps. He then swipes the back of his hand over his mouth and slams the tumbler on the low coffee table. “And what deal would that be? You want to send more money through? We can do that.”

  “No, I’m looking for a boy.” I lean back in my chair. Bill continues to glance around the room while Brad narrows his eyes. “His name is Otto. I believe he worked for you.” And you paid him in my cash. Brad tries to remain impassive, but I spot the tiniest twitch at the corner of his mouth. Bracing my elbows on the arms of the chair, I steeple my fingers in front of me. “You know him.” I want him to know I know. That there’s no lying or weaselling out of it. He goes to open his mouth, but I hold up a finger. “Before you answer, know that I do so loathe lies.”

  His mouth snaps shut, and a scowl covers his rounded face. Brad shoots a glance at his brother, and a silent exchange passes between them, ending in a nod from Bill.

  “We’ve had a little trouble,” Bill starts.

  “What kind of trouble?” The kind where they get kids to sell drugs and pay them in my money.

  Brad squares his shoulders defensively. “We cut a deal with the Los Carlos last year—”

  Jase coughs loudly, choking. “You did what?” he finally manages to gasp out.

  “They have the best product,” Billy explains.

  “Bill, it’s the bloody cartel.” Jase shakes his head, eyes wide with disbelief.

  It’s not beyond belief. The cartels have infiltrated gangs for years. The Los Carlos are simply a branch here in Europe, a franchise of the cartel if you like, and they, in turn, franchise smaller gangs. It’s the perfect business model with money running uphill. The men at the bottom take all of the risk, whilst the man at the top makes all of the profit. The original pyramid scheme. And it all works perfectly because the second someone steps out of line, they die. Simple. Their brand of trouble involves destruction like no other.

  “What did you do?” I ask.

  Bill rolls his eyes. “They think we fucked them over, so they took a couple of our dealers off the streets. It’s not a big deal.” He shrugs. “They’re all kids from shit areas. No one will miss them.” Except Otto. Someone misses him. Enough to risk coming to me. Enough to be willing to deal with these degenerates.

  I push to my feet. “Well then, that will be all.”

  They look at each other and then back at me. “That’s it?”

  “It would appear that you are not the men I need to speak to.”

  “Right.” Brad shuffles to his feet.

  “A word of advice though…” Brad pauses, watching me intently. “The girl that came to you yesterday…blonde. Pretty.” Brads expression remains blank, so I turn to Bill. His lips are a flat line.

  “What about her?” he asks.

  “Leave her alone.”

  “She came looking for work—”

  “I don’t care.”

  “We would consider it a personal favour if you could…send her on her way next time you see her,” Jase cuts in.

  There’s a tense pause before Brad claps his chubby hands together. “Of course. Not a bother.” He walks to the door, and his brother slowly follows, the pair of them skulking from the room. As soon as the door clicks shut, Jase is beside me.

  “Stupid fucks,” he murmurs. “What the hell was that about? I assume it’s Eden you’re warning them off.”

  I choose to ignore his comment. “Make contact with the Los Carlos. Organise a meeting.”

  “You want to meet them?” He shakes his head, mumbling something under his breath.

  “Of course not.” I don’t deal with the Bromley Brothers, let alone cartel members. If you linger in the darkness, you will soon find yourself struggling to find the light. “You will meet with them, and find out what they have done with the boy. If they have him, then I want him back. Pay them.”

  “Okay. I’ll get in contact.” He starts for the door.

  “And Jase…” He pauses. “Do not fail me on this. It’s very important.” Glancing over his shoulder, he narrows his eyes and nods once before walking away.

  Very important indeed, but what if the boy is already dead? Then what? Eden will no longer need my help. But I have to give her something. She went to them, that means she’s losing faith, acting on her own. And if she is losing faith in me, then so must He be…

  Leaving the room, I go in search of her. The club is busy as usual, and I know Eden is working tables tonight because I always know what she’s doing and where she is. Always. I spot her serving a group of men I know to be bankers. Scheming, thieving bankers, but still amongst the most legal clientele I see here.

  She serves them their two hundred pound bottle of champagne that they know they could buy for eighty elsewhere. And yet they willingly dip their hands in their pockets because they wish to make a point, to be seen and noted. My father always said, pay attention to the quietest man in any room. He is the threat. It’s one of the few things I ever heeded from him. But these sorts of men are inconsequential. They will never amount to anything and will die unsatisfied with their pitiful lives. That’s why they leer over Eden like she’s a piece of meat, convincing themselves in their false egotistical state that she might want them. In what world would a woman such as her ever look at men like them? It’s laughable. Really.

  She smiles politely as she pours their drinks and then backs away. Their eyes follow her, and it takes everything in my power not to go over there, snap the stem from one of those champagne flutes, and impale each of their eyeballs on it like a kebab stick. When she moves into the next room, I follow, catching her at the bar.

  “Eden.” She stills, turning to face me. Those full lips are covered in red lipstick once more, and I hate it. She looks like a whore, like the whore the man with the Mercedes wants to make her. “Come with me.” I jerk my head and start walking back towards my lounge. I need calm, privacy. I need her in my domain, where I rule.

  I hold the door open for her, watching as she crosses the threshold, her shoulders rigid, trying to portray confidence. When I close it, she lurches a little, turning to ensure I’m in her line of sight. She thinks the lion may pounce, and I must admit, the thought is enticing.

  “It seems you do not trust me, angel.” I pass her, deliberately brushing her arm. I don’t miss the subtle shiver that works over her body.

  “No, I don’t.”

  I take a seat, gripping the arms of my chair hard. She does not trust me. I, who have endeavoured to help her, have offered myself to her as physically and spiritually as I would only to God himself. “And why is that? Have I not offered my services to find your brother?”

  “What have you done to find him?” Nothing, because I’m too busy watching you.

  “I have located his possible whereabouts.”

  She stills for a moment, and I watch her breaths stop before resuming again. Her chest rises and falls rapidly, and she steps forward, unable to help herself. “Where?” She’s so eager, so desperate. Give her something no one else can.

  “It would seem that he has become involved with a branch of the cartel.”

  Her face pales and her lips part, a choked breath leaving her throat. “The cartel,” she whispers. And then she breaks. She tilts her head back exactly the same way I witnessed outside the bowling alley, but this time, when she closes her eyes, tears coat her lashes before falling like diamonds on her pale cheeks.

  “Jase will meet with them.” Her brow crumples, and she drops her chin to her chest, allowing her hair to hide her sadness.

  I should sit and watch, keep my distance, but I don’t. I can’t. Pushing to my feet, I close the gap between us. I find myself reaching out, swiping her hair away from her face.

  “I’m sorry.” She swipes at the tears, her cheeks tinging such a beautiful shade of pink. I remove a handkerchief from my pocket and catch the moisture, and her eyes meet mine, holding my gaze with so much innocence, and there it is; trust.

  I can’t help but look at the harlot-red lipstick that taints her exquisite features. Gripping her chin in one hand, I slowly drag the cotton square over her mouth. The red smudges and blurs, bleeding down her face, trying to stain her perfection. “Don’t taint yourself. Purity is rare in this world.” I offer her the red-stained cloth, and she takes it, slowly swiping at the remainder of the lipstick with trembling hands. Tears still trickle down her cheeks, and I can almost feel her distress in the air. Her pain. For once, I don’t enjoy it. I thrust my hands deep inside my pockets in a bid to fight the urge to touch her. “You must have faith that you will find your brother.”

  On a heavy sigh, she shakes her head from side to side. “The cartel, Saint. It’s getting harder and harder to believe that he could possibly survive these kinds of people.”

  I sway towards her, inhaling the scent of her perfume as I bring my lips to her ear. “You shouldn’t have survived someone like me, and yet here you are, angel.” A miracle. “It’s called faith for a reason.” When I pull back, her eyes are right there, waiting for me. There’s an understanding there, a connection. Her and I, we are bound. She will be my redemption or my downfall, though I’m not sure whether she knows it. If an angel is cast to earth to live a mortal life, do they remember that they are something other, something more? Surely not. She’s so perfectly flawed, in a way that only God himself could have sculpted. How could she live her pitiful life, knowing what she had left behind?

  No, she is my test, just as surely as I am hers. Our paths are intertwined, our goals aligned.

  We both need the same thing — to redeem a monster, to go to heaven.

  She lifts her hand, and I jolt at the sensation of her fingertips brushing over my jaw. Ah, little angel, can you offer salvation to one so close to the devil’s realm? “I have faith in you,” she whispers. She believes I’m worthy.

  Closing my eyes, I turn my head, placing my nose to the soft skin on the inside of her wrist and inhaling her intoxicating scent. She smells like sunshine, rose petals, and hope. Her nails scratch over the stubble of my jaw, and it feels like little sparks of electricity skittering over my skin, bringing me to life. I’m renewed by her simple caress, invigorated. I feel…touched by God. Possessed by the Holy Spirit in ways I can barely comprehend. Everything is lighter, euphoric even.

  Then she steps back. The air feels cold without her, and everything seems…flat, grey, and bleak. Only when the door clicks shut, do I open my eyes to the empty room. My heart clenches painfully, and it’s as though my very soul mourns her presence.

  “I won’t fail you,” I say to the closed door — a vow, a promise.

  I will not fail her because to do so is to condemn myself.

  17

  Saint

  It’s one o’ clock in the morning, but Eden’s window still glows in the darkness. I like to think that she’s every bit as troubled as I am.

  My phone flashes, bathing the car interior in blue light.

  Jase: Leaving now.

  This is it, the news I’ve been waiting for. It’s been days since my meeting with the Bromley Brothers — days since I spoke to Eden. I have faith in you. If that were true, angel, then you’d be sleeping soundly.

  If I can’t find her brother, will she shun me? Leave and run into the arms of the bad man who would see her defiled… No, he doesn’t deserve her. I do. I need her.

  Starting the engine, I drive faster than usual through the city, back to Salvation. It’s a Tuesday evening, and the car park is nearly empty. The main club is closed, but the catacombs below are always open, ready to welcome those who would hide from normal company. A couple of tables are occupied, and only one of Jase’s girls is working. Good. I like the quiet, the peace.

  The fire is already crackling in my lounge, bathing the room in a warm light that ripples and reflects off the domed ceiling.

  I pour myself a glass of whiskey and sit. The spicy liquid dances over my tongue, calming my nerves, and I can’t remember ever feeling so tense. I need to know what Jase found. Is the boy dead or alive? If he’s dead, then I’ve surely failed.

  I sit for what feels like hours, but in reality is only minutes. Finally, I hear the tell-tale creak of the old door hinges. I force myself to sit, to maintain patience and control as Jase walks into the room. She drives me to chaos.

  Jase pours himself a drink before taking a seat on the sofa across from me. I study every single move, assessing his body language, trying to gauge the situation.

  “That was a fucking shit show,” he mumbles, before picking up his glass and downing half of it.

  “Do they have the boy?”

  He sighs. “Yeah, they have him, but we have bigger problems.” There is no bigger problem. Only this. The salvation of my soul.

  “Are they willing to make a deal?”

  He shakes his head. “Saint, listen to me. We have. Bigger. Problems. The Brothers fucked over the cartel, and us.”

  “How so?”

  “They were buying product from the Los Carlos…with our money. Selling the drugs, and getting double the money back, and clean.”

  I raise a brow. I’d see a certain genius in it if it weren’t for the blinding fact that they were always sure to die when the cartel found out.

  “So they took their dealers… Why not just kill Bill and Brad?”

  “Hostages. They want their money.” That seems too subtle for the cartel.

  “Why are the Brothers going to pay them over a few kids they don’t give a shit about?”

  He shrugs. “Because someone gives a shit about them. Three of those kids have now been reported missing. The police haven’t put two and two together yet, but it has to be coming.”

  “If they get arrested, Los Carlos aren’t getting their money.”

  “And the Brothers aren’t making it to jail.”

  “A game of chicken,” I muse. “With Otto Harris as bait.”

  “Well, I cut a deal with them. They’ll give us Otto, and in return, we take out the Brothers and run our money through them.”

  “Tell me you did not agree to this already.”

  “You said you wanted the kid, and it’s good business.”

  “No, it’s high-risk business.”

  I have no desire to deal with the cartel. Any associates of theirs are a high priority with law enforcement. The risk becomes immense. Eagerness lights up Jase’s eyes. All he see’s is the money, the profit margins.

  “Think about it. We could cut out all the shitty little cleaners we have, the unreliable ones like the Chinese lot. One big cleaner, franchising on our behalf. We’d make more money for less work.”

  “With far more risk.” If I were in my right mind, I’d never consider this, but I’m not. I’m consumed by the need to pass this test, to appease my angel. My priorities have skewed, and I barely recognise myself. A voice in my mind tells me not to be so stupid, that she’s just a girl and isn’t worth this kind of sacrifice, but my heart — my soul — knows otherwise. She’s so much more.

  Jase stares at me, waiting. “I want the boy immediately.”

  He arches a brow in surprise. “That can be arranged. We’d need to restart printing straight away.”