Authors: Bethany Walkers
Part Six – Present
In all our time together
You’ve come to mean so much to me
You are my best friend
My life and all my dreams
You give me hope when I’m all out
You are my pick-me-up
When I’m feeling down
You make me feel good about myself
There will never be anyone else
For the rest of time
To love me like you do
And for me to love too
The way I love you
You mean the world to me
You are my soul
my spirit
My everything
Chapter Sixty
Discussing to Adam what she thought
Jazz felt incredibly sorry for Adam as she read the news report.
She decided to pay him a visit. Adam was currently situated at the hospital.
“Hi sir,” Jazz gulped. Adam gave her a glare. “I’m Jazz, your friend.”
Jazz produced her photo.
“The thing is, Adam, I feel sorry for you. I’m sorry about all the things that have happened in your life, I’m sorry for the way I treated you, I’m sorry about how I betrayed you, I’m just sorry about everything.”
Adam said nothing.
“This Josh Toft,” she continued icily, “he really is a soul taker, isn’t he? He murdered your girlfriend, remember? Sophie Steele? She was at her apartment and you came to visit her …”
Suddenly Jazz began to fill him up on everything that she had found out. He began to remember the incidents that had occurred in his life. He rocked about in his bed, shouting and screaming and crying.
Jazz still carried on, no matter how much he was being hurt.
He’d remembered everything.
There was no stopping him getting his revenge on Joshua Toft now.
Chapter Sixty One
The challenge
The next day Adam was freed from hospital. He and Jazz went to town. Adam phoned Josh Toft.
“You’re in for it,” he said coldly. “Me and you … a fight. May the best man win. This is war.”
“Oh Adam Attenborough, I’m so scared!” Joshua said in a mocking tone.
“Well, you’ll be scared no more. Because very soon you’ll be facing your death.”
All Joshua could do was dial off and wait.
Chapter Sixty Two
All’s fair in love and war
Jazz and Adam went to Josh Toft’s house.
Guards were surrounded there, everywhere.
“It’s too dangerous,” Jazz said. She dragged him back.
“If Sophie Steele was killed, then I’m going to have to risk being killed too,” Adam said firmly. “All’s fair in love and war.”
“Yeah right.”
Adam ignored her. He went round the back garden.
Chapter Sixty Three
The fight begins
Adam had a fight with each and every one of them. They were no match at fighting for Adam Attenborough.
All he had to do was give them a punch and they were knocked unconscious.
Adam laughed, as he made his way further up the garden. Then, one man really tried to go for him. His name was Tyler. Adam began to fight with him, even more rough than he’d fought with the others.
The first punch glanced Tyler’s chin. He noticed too late that it was a feint, though, when the second punch doubled him over and expelled the last bit of choked air from his beer-weighted belly.
It was a heck of a shot. Outside of having the wind knocked from him, which he always hated, Tyler noticed a fair amount of pain with the gutshot, which was something he wasn’t used to. A hit to the face, yes, or even the kidney...but the gut shouldn’t have been much more than discomfort, if that.
Fortunately, he was used to it all. A veteran of bar fights in four states and countless cities, even being out of air was something Tyler knew how to deal with.
He stood straight, eyes bulging with rage, and stared at his opponent—some bloodshot eyed man with a smart mouth—right in his shifty little eyes. The kid tried to stand tall, but he was about to pee his pants he was so scared. Tyler had him where he wanted him.
“You…little…” Tyler took a lurching step forward with each word. On the third, he swung: “
Punk
!”
The blow felt too sluggish. Tyler knew the second he launched it. Smirking, Adam Attenborough ducked under it. Before Tyler could even register the dodge, however, another body shot, this one to his ribs, sent fresh ripples of pain through his torso. He didn’t fall—he made absolutely sure he
did not fall
—but it was a lot closer than he’d have liked. In other places, where he was more well-known, his reputation would have already taken a beating whether he won the fight or not.
Adam went in for another shot, but this time, Tyler shoved him off. Seeing Adam scoot back so far against the weight of it gave him a second wind. He covered the distance between them. Threw three more punches that
did
land. Adam fell.
Then, Adam stood again.
It was unreal. Between the pain in his guts and ribs and the general confusion (some would call it being punch drunk), the sight of Adam Attenborough on his feet after the patented Tyler left-right-left was not something he wanted to see. He threw a haymaker that the kid ducked but didn’t parry, then another that Adam Attenborough swung under again—and responded in turn with an uppercut.
Click
. The sound of Tyler’s upper and lower rows of teeth making unplanned contact sickened him. Still, he kept his feet. He had to. Falling down was not an option—but he’d been defeated, and there was no point in trying to fight back again. Adam Attenborough had won. Laughing, he walked further in the territory of Joshua Toft.
"There’s another guy behind you, you know," Tyler warned Adam Attenborough, pointing.
He saw them then. Silent as beetles, two men scuttled toward him.
More followed, slipping from doorways and corners. Under cover of the rain and fog, a whole pack had stalked in, unseen, converging from three directions. They were Scottish and they were here in London, guarding Joshua Toft from enemies and vermin. They carried knives and clubs and chains. These were vermin from the dockside, deadly and cold as ice. They'd sent the boy Tyler, who was quite strong but could never win against someone like Adam Attenborough, as a distraction to hold him while the gang closed in. He’d just tried to keep him entertained.
"Run from me." He let him loose. "Run fast."
But he backed away, wide eyed, breathing hard. "Why? I was told to stay here." That was shock in his voice and fear. He turned in a circle, looking for a hole in the gate closing round them. And Adam Attenborough knew he was no part of this. No decoy.
"More of them down that way. A baker's dozen." One of the men dropped out of the fog, into his usual place, taking the left. They were two against that many. Long odds.
He picked a target--one in front, where his friends would see him die--and threw. The bravo collapsed with a sucking, bubbling neck wound. The familiar stink of death rose in the alley. He pulled his second knife.
The thugs hesitated, sending glances back and forth, fingering blade and cudgel. Attack or retreat. It could go either way.
Then one man broke ranks and lunged for Tyler.
He was fast as a little cat. He'd give her that. Cat quick, writhing, He bit the filthy arm that held her and knocked a knife aside and wrenched loose. Tyler skipped back, clutching a long shallow cut on her forearm. "Not hurt. I'm not hurt."
No tears, no screams. Pluck to the backbone. He was also damnably in his way. He shoved Tyler behind him, between him and the other men. Protected as Tyler could be.
If this lasts long, he'll get killed
. "Mine on the right." He threw and his blade hit badly and glanced off a collar bone. One man down. One wounded. That would have been two dead if he'd had the sense to stay sober. "Waste of a knife. Damn."
His last knife was in his boot. Not for throwing. This one was for killing up close.
He forced his mind to the pattern the attackers wove, trying to spot the leader. Kill the leader and the others might scatter. Adrian danced a path through the bullyboys, breaking bones with that lead-weighted cane of his.
No way to get Tyler to safety. He stayed in his shadow, using him as a shield, white-faced.
He's been in street fights before.
Then, Adak didn't think about her at all. Chain whistled past. He grabbed it and jerked the man off balance and drove his knife through a gap in the leather waistcoat, up under the breastbone, to the heart.
For an instant he stood locked, face to face, with the man he'd just killed--a thickset red-head with pale skin and vicious, gleeful, mad blue eyes. Outrage and disbelief pulsed out at him . . . and drained away. The eyes went blank.
Then the dead bastard thrashed, rolled with the knife, and took it down with him as he fell.
No time to get it back. A crowbar cracked down on his shoulder with a bright, sour, copper pain. He fell, dodged a boot, and rolled away as Adam took down his attacker who was holding Tyler.
Tyler screamed.
Up. He had to get up. He was on his feet, shaking his head, trying to see through a black haze. Tyler was stretched between two men, being dragged away. He staggered through madness and confusion, fog and pain. They were all was swearing a blue streak.
Under the chaos, he heard a monstrous racket of wheels on cobblestone. A goods wagon rounded the corner.
Tyler tore loose, leaving his cloak behind. He reeled straight into the path of the horses and slipped on wet cobbles. He had a split second to look up and see hooves. His face was a mask of raw terror.
He launched himself toward Tyler. Too late. He knew he'd be too late.
The driver wrenched on the reins. Horses reared and squealed.
Frantic, he jack-knifed away from the striking hooves. He was so close to scrambling to safety …
He slipped on the rain-slick cobbles. The wagon skidded. Iron rims shrieked on the stone. The wheel hit the side of her head with a soft, horrible thud. He whipped around, and wavered upright for an instant, and slumped to the dirty stones of the street.
All hell broke loose. Shouts back and forth. Limping, dragging their wounded with them, the gang retreated.
He stepped over a body and ran to Tyler.
He lay huddled on his side, as if sleeping, covered with blood and mud, his clothes torn halfway off him. His hand lay upcurled on the cobbles, open to the falling rain.
Adam didn’t have time to feel sorry for Tyler. The purpose he came here wasn’t just to fight out with everyone who was guarding Joshua’s house. The purpose was to kill Joshua Toft.