Jacqui Rose 2 Book Bundle

He and his eight siblings had been carted off to the local kids’ home in Stepney in the East End of London where one by one, they’d been separated. Picked off like cherries from a tree as do-gooders came along looking for a child to complete their own family, not realising or caring they were breaking up one already there.

Fifteen years ago he’d tracked all his siblings down, but besides from his sister, Lorna – who called him every Wednesday evening to moan about everything from her burning haemorrhoids to the miserable skinny fucker she was living with in Belgium – he’d lost touch with all the others again.

The pretence of family unity had been too much for them to keep up. The ties had been severed and damaged a long time ago, and eventually they’d all stopped calling each other, slowly backing away; slinking off to their separate lives. All relieved that they could stop pretending they cared.

As sad as it was and at times painful for Frankie to think about what could’ve been, he had his own family right here in front of him. He had his own wife, his own son and there was no way history was going to repeat itself. He wasn’t losing contact with anyone, because no one was going anywhere, not if he had anything to do with it.

Looking down at his son with a naked Saucers lying next to him, Frankie smiled. Johnny was certainly a chip off the old block. He was proud of him. He couldn’t have asked for a better son. Johnny certainly knew how to have fun, but there was a time for fucking about and a time for work.

If they weren’t careful they’d be late opening the clubs and as business had been down lately, he didn’t want to give any of his regular punters an excuse to go somewhere else. Besides which he didn’t want a nag-full from his wife, Gypsy, if she came home and saw him running late.

He smiled again when he thought about his wife. He’d been married to her for thirty-two years, the ceremony being held on the day she’d turned sixteen. And after all this time, she still did it for him. Still gave him a boner when he thought about her – and Frankie knew very few people could say the same about their own missus.

Not that he didn’t bang the goods at his clubs on a regular basis. No one in their right mind could expect him to love, care and be faithful to his wife. By anyone’s standards that would be taking the piss. If he had to do that he may as well cut his balls off now and feed them to the fish in Hyde Park.

He looked at his white platinum Rolex watch; a present from Gypsy for his fiftieth birthday to go with the white gold diamond knuckledusters she’d got him the year before. He really needed to be at the first club by four at the latest, but thinking about his wife had left him feeling horny. Perhaps once he got to his club he’d search out the little blonde with the big tits who’d started work last week. Get her to give him a blow job. Part of the perks of running girls – but for now he and Johnny had things to do.

‘Come on son, get up. I’ll meet you in the car in ten minutes. We don’t want to be here if your mother comes home. You know what she’s like.’

Frankie roared with laughter, then roared even harder as he saw Johnny grimace, putting a pillow firmly over his face. He smacked the pert naked bottom of Saucers who groaned as well. Walking out of the room he whistled, feeling very pleased with himself. Though in particular he felt pleased with himself because the night before he’d managed to rub Max Donaldson up the wrong way. Anything to do with annoying Max always left Frankie feeling good.

CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_2b5ede2d-8796-5efa-b298-1ec55d358459)

The ride in the back of the black Mercedes to Holloway Road should’ve been a comfortable one, but Tommy Donaldson was finding it quite the opposite. Not simply from the broken air conditioning but from having to sit and listen to his father firing off a ranting tirade of abuse, directed at him.

Tommy noticed whenever his father was angry there was a change in his Irish accent. Over the years it’d become watered down from the years he’d lived in Soho. The anger, however, turned it back into a thick guttural growl, making all his words sound more violent and attacking than usual.

Catching his father’s eye in the driver’s mirror, Tommy continued to listen to the barrage of abuse, hoping desperately to get to their destination as quickly as possible.

‘Is it only me who’s able to tell the bleeding difference between four and half past four? When did you start to think it’s alright to be late? I didn’t bring up me kids to make a mug of me. Virgin Mary help me, because I’ll beat the shit so hard out of you son, you’ll be needing a colostomy bag. Between you and Frankie Taylor you’ll have me digging me own grave. What is it with people that think they can get away with disrespect? Well tell me lad, do I have cuntbranded into me arse?’

Tommy glanced out of the window, biting his lip; he didn’t know if the question was supposed to be rhetorical or not. If he didn’t answer when he should’ve done, he knew when the car stopped he’d get a hard slap. If he answered when he shouldn’t; the same rules applied.

Before Tommy had decided what to do, Max swerved the car with blackout windows into the carwash off the traffic-filled Camden Road. The brake was put on too quickly, sending Tommy and one of his father’s heavies face first into the back of the leather front seats.

‘Well, well, well. Look what we have over there lads. They’re right when they say talk of the devil and he’ll appear. I’ll tell you something, the rats are coming out today in their droves.’

Max Donaldson spoke, staring with hatred at a white Range Rover on the other side of the empty forecourt. As Tommy followed his father’s gaze, Max opened the door and got out, giving Tommy a clearer view of the recipient of his father’s anger. There, standing larger than life, enjoying a joke together in the late afternoon’s sunshine were Frankie and Johnny Taylor.

Watching his father stride over towards them with his face curled up in a vicious snarl, Tommy sighed, preparing himself for trouble.

‘You’ve got a nerve, Taylor, showing your face round here.’ Frankie looked up, slightly taken aback but not unduly concerned to see Max Donaldson marching towards him, red-faced. He waited for Max to come closer then spoke, his tone laced with amusement.

‘Round here? Now all of a sudden this is your turf is it? My, my, how the Donaldsons have an inflated sense of self. You should lay off the coke Max, or is it just your son who sticks the whole of London up his nose? Glad to see you’ve changed your shirt since last night.’

Max lunged forward but was held back by Tommy. Apoplectic with rage, he turned his anger on his son.

‘Get off me boy. I don’t need a fecking babysitter. Grab me again and I’ll not think twice about slicing you.’

Max shook off Tommy’s arm, pushing him out of the way, and stepped a foot closer to Frankie. Squaring up and breathing hard as Frankie stood his ground, thinking about the way Max behaved towards his own son. The man was twisted with anger towards everyone.

Frankie didn’t have a problem with fighting usually. However the last thing he needed now was Max Donaldson with a bruised ego, squaring up to him because of a thrown drink and a wet shirt. He was already late to get round all the clubs so he wasn’t in the mood for any of Max’s crap.

‘Listen Max; pick a time and a place. You know I’m happy to have it out with you, but not here, not now.’

‘Why not Frankie? Scared you’ll not be able to put up when you haven’t got your men around you?’

Frankie shook his head. It was clear Max wasn’t about to back down and wouldn’t be happy if he didn’t get at least one swing in. He’d known him for years. Too long to remember. He’d always been a sadistic little bastard. It was common knowledge he’d frequently battered his wife and kids to the point of bones being broken.

Frankie knew the Donaldson boys quite well through his encounters with Max and from the fights Johnny had had with them when they’d been younger. He’d only ever seen Max’s wife and daughter in passing, years ago. Though he wasn’t complaining – the less he had to do with them the better. The whole family were messed up, or at least the boys were, so it wouldn’t surprise him if the girl wasn’t far behind.

He glanced at Tommy, who was standing behind his father. He kept himself to himself but he was known to be a bit of a looney tune. Still, however much of a nut job he was, Frankie had to admit, Tommy Donaldson certainly was a good-looking man. He could have easily graced the cover of any men’s magazine with his handsome face and tall, muscular physique.

The other brother, Nicky, whom he saw less of, was almost as handsome as his older brother. Handsome but another space cadet, sniffing up so much coke he hardly knew who he was. Frankie knew Johnny dabbled from time to time. Hell, he often enjoyed a line himself when he’d a late night ahead of him. But there was a difference between social enjoyment and a bang-on junkie.

It astounded Frankie how Max’s two boys could look so different from their father, who was short and stocky with a rounded face and beady, sunken eyes. A world apart from the handsome looks of his crystal-blue-eyed boys.

Frankie’s thoughts broke off as he felt Tommy’s intense stare. As blue and dazzling as they were, there was something unsettling about his eyes. Something that made him seem as if he was not all there. ‘Troubled’ as his old Nan would say. But then, having a father like Max Donaldson, it was no wonder.

Sighing, Frankie turned his attention back to Max. He could see Max wasn’t going to move unless he got a bit of a rumble. What he didn’t see was the small knife he was holding in his hand.

Not wanting a stand-off, Frankie took a swing, connecting his diamond knuckledusters to Max Donaldson’s lip. The warm blood spurted across both their suits and a tiny bit of bright red flesh landed on the concrete floor. Frankie saw Johnny step forward as Tommy and Donaldson’s goon came to wade in.

It didn’t take long for the adrenalin to take hold of Frankie, his appetite now wet for the fight. He went to take another swing at Max. Immediately he felt a cold rush go through his body. He touched his side and saw his hand covered in his own blood. Pushing down hard on the wound to try to stop the bleeding, Frankie stumbled forward, grappling to hold onto Johnny for support. He fell to his knees in front of his stunned son and managed to utter a few words.

‘He’s stabbed me. The fucking cunt’s stabbed me. Get hold of your mother.’

Then Frankie Taylor blacked out.

CHAPTER SIX (#ulink_00c105ae-4416-583b-90ad-630f15fe2641)

Gypsy Taylor sat down hard on the marble toilet. She’d been bursting for a wee all afternoon, but hadn’t been able to bring herself to use the public ones in Piccadilly. They smelt of stale urine which always reminded her of her beloved Auntie May who’d lived till she was well over a hundred and died with a smile and a fag on her lips. Gypsy was certain she could still smell the foul odour of the public conveniences lingering on her expensive clothes hours later, so she avoided them like the proverbial plague.

She supposed she could’ve made the short walk home back to Berkeley Square or to one of her husband’s Soho clubs to use the bathroom, but going back out to see her friends might have proved tricky. It would’ve meant explaining to her husband where she was going. And Frankie didn’t like her seeing her friends. Frankie didn’t like her seeing anyone. Anyone except for him.

Flushing the toilet and washing her hands in the Italian handmade sink, Gypsy wondered where her husband was. His phone was turned off. She’d tried the clubs but they hadn’t seen him; no one had. Not that she was worried, quite the opposite. She was going to luxuriate in the peace and quiet without him.

Gypsy loved Frankie with all her heart. She always had done. From the moment she’d seen him at the Reno nightclub on the Mile End Road she knew he was the one. But his possessive nature was starting to become too much. She was no longer the starry-eyed teenager he’d first met in the East End all those years ago. She was her own person now and she wanted her own life. However, trying to tell that to Frankie would be as good as asking him for a divorce.

It wasn’t as if she didn’t want to be married to him; she did. But him insisting on her having to call him throughout the day to tell him where she was and who she was with, had worn thin a long time ago. At first she’d thought it was sweet, Frankie wanting to know her every movement. However, over time sweet had turned sour; in fact, sweet had turned into a pain in the bleeding hole.

Her best friend was going to Spain soon with some of the other girls from the East End and they wanted her to go with them. ‘Come on, Gypsy; just tell your old man you’re going. Put your foot down girl.’ She’d looked at them and shaken her head. ‘You know what he’s like; he’ll probably think I’ll be jumping into bed with every Spaniard in sight. I wouldn’t put it past Frankie to turn up disguised as a matador so he can spy on me.’ Her friends had laughed hard. So had Gypsy, though her laughter was tinged with sadness. Not going to Spain was another example of Frankie’s control she couldn’t ignore any longer.

She needed her friends; they were a refreshing tonic. Unlike some women, Gypsy didn’t need the constant attention of men. She enjoyed the company of women and saw her friends not just to have a laugh with but also when she needed a shoulder to cry on. Most of all, Gypsy knew they just wanted the best for her.

Frankie, on the other hand didn’t see them like that. He saw them as he did anyone who came near her; a threat. A bad influence. ‘I don’t want you hanging round with those slags, Gypsy. You’re better than that.’ She knew it was pointless trying to convince Frankie. He was one of the most stubborn men she knew. But she still tried, always living in hope he might be able to see she could still love him and have her own life. ‘They’re alright, Frank. You don’t know them like I do. If you let yourself get to know them, perhaps you’d like them.’

The last time she’d said that to him, Frankie had banged his food down on the black cut marble table, and had gone to sulk in the cinema room where Gypsy had found him an hour later. They’d made love and as usual she’d enjoyed it. What she didn’t enjoy was her growing dissatisfaction with her princess in the tower lifestyle.