You're Only Dead, Page 21

Emery sighed and flopped down at the severely dusty table. "No."

  He stuck his fingers up his shirt and felt at the short gash. "Christ, we're gonna be in pieces by the time this is all over."

  "Better to lose a few pieces than die whole," Emery said, rubbing his shoulder. "You should really apologize to Georgie."

  "What for?"

  "For what you said. Two men just tried to kill her and you jumped down her throat."

  "They also tried to kill us."

  "Who hasn't?"

  Victor didn't have a rebuttal for that.

  "She caught a good beating too, you know. It's not like we took the brunt of that altercation for her."

  Victor frowned. "He hit her?"

  "Badly. I wouldn't be surprised if the bastard broke a rib or two."

  "Shit." Victor set his hands on his hips, staring at the door. "She shouldn't've left. She was fuckin' frazzled, probably still riding adrenaline. The pain's gonna hit her hard."

  "You shouldn't've riled her up, then."

  "Alright, Jesus. If I promise to apologize will you stop fucking defending her? You've known this chick for less than two weeks and you're acting like she's your kid sister."

  Emery relented, looking away and continuing to knead his arm.

  "Your shoulder okay?"

  "It's worse than before," he mused. "When I dislocated it the first time, the recovery…wasn't as bad. I'm not sure why."

  "How'd it happen?"

  "Pushed down a flight of stairs."

  "That'd do it."

  "It did," Emery nodded. "Kurt reset it. But it wasn't anything like what you did. He just…I don't know what he did; he rubbed at it until it fell back in place."

  Victor shrugged. "The Cunningham method. Sure, that works for some relocations. Only if the recipient is totally relaxed though, and that was pretty fucking far from a relaxed situation."

  "Believe me, I'm grateful, but I'll never forget that pain."

  Victor rested his hands on the back of a rickety chair at the table and took a good long look around the enclosure. "Man, this place is a dump."

  "It could be worse."

  "How?"

  Emery paused, then gave him a spirited smirk. "Heater could be broken."

  Victor rolled his eyes.

  They both turned as the door opened, Victor drawing his gun before seeing that it was Georgie. She shut the door behind her quickly and he tucked his gun away. "Back already?"

  "Yes."

  "Hey, listen, about earlier—" he began.

  Georgie looked between them with a grave face. "Sod that. We've got bigger problems."

  Victor and Emery shared a look as she came over. "Like what?" Emery asked.

  She plucked a folded paper from under her arm and laid it out on the table in front of them. "The front page news."

  Millionaire Hunter Eaton Found Dead in Chelsea Home.

  Chapter 15

  Emery immediately scooped up the paper before him, eyes wide.

  "Holy shit," Victor said beside him.

  Emery reread the lines again and again, certain that he was misinterpreting it. London mourns the loss of beloved son Hunter Eaton, found dead in his home last night at age forty-seven. "Dead," he repeated. "How?"

  Georgie bent over the table. "It was ruled a suicide."

  "Was it a suicide?" Victor asked.

  "Gunshot to the head. A handwritten note. I don't see any suspicion of foul play."

  Emery swallowed and set the paper down. "…dead…"

  "This is fucking bad," Victor said, putting his hands on his head. "We have one conversation with the guy and he fucking shoots himself. Ludkov's gonna kill us all."

  Georgie shook her head, drawing the paper back and folding it over to find the last paragraph before reading it aloud. "Hunter is survived by his stepson and sole heir to the Eaton fortune, Emery Eaton, whose whereabouts remain unknown."

  "What?" Emery snatched the paper back. He found the line and stared at it in disbelief. "That can't be right. That's got to be a misprint."

  "Afraid not. You're being looked for as we speak."

  Emery's hands began to shake. "All this time and the bloody idiot never changed his will? I'm still his heir? For god's sake…"

  Victor wiped his hands over his face and began pacing. "Fuck me. This is a real fucking break for Ludkov, isn't it? You're already indebted to him as far as he sees it, and you just inherited a multimillion pound estate."

  "He can have the bloody money," Emery murmured.

  "I wish it were that simple," Georgie said. "But it's worse than that. Ludkov's wanted you in this position all along. You now own his dock and his assets, effectively making you the new Hunter Eaton in his drug ring, except he doesn't have to pay you. Better still you're young and already under his thumb."

  Emery heard her explanation but barely registered it. He was too busy scanning through the rest of the article.

  Eaton planned his death days in advance. He spent the hours prior setting his affairs in order with his solicitor, John Alcott, before shutting himself in his study around six p.m. and firing a single shot into his temple. The body was discovered an hour later by a housemaid. He left only a brief note by way of explanation with the words: "I'll have no more."

  "He'd not been doing well," attests Henrietta West, a longtime member of Eaton's personal staff. "He lost weight, stopped attending meetings, didn't seem to care much about the state of things. He even lost touch with his stepson, with whom he was once very close. There were signs. We should have seen them."

  Emery felt sick.

  "Fuck," Victor repeated. "How the fuck do we get out of this?"

  Georgie grunted, wrapping an arm around her side before heading off towards the bathroom. "We don't."

  "Hey wait, let me take a look at that, I—" Victor tried, but Georgie simply waved him off and brushed past him.

  "Why did he leave me everything?" Emery asked quietly. "After all that had happened. Why?"

  Victor turned back to him. "What?"

  Emery set down the paper and rubbed at his chest. "This happened because of me."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "I drove him to it," Emery clarified. "You heard him. You saw him. He was at his wit's end and I put the gun in his hand. I should have realized…"

  "So what?" Victor asked obliviously. "Don't tell me you feel guilty about it."

  "My last words to him were cruel. They didn't have to be cruel."

  "Okay, don't get bent out of shape, Em. You can't get broken up about the death of a guy you planned to kill just a few days ago."

  "I know that what he did was unforgivable, but he didn't do it maliciously. He was clearly imbalanced. Something must've happened to him to make him that way…But he was listening to me for once. He truly heard what I told him for the first time ever, and he couldn't bear it. Maybe if I'd just been kinder, maybe if I'd just explained it to him the right way all those years ago then—"

  "Maybe if you just explained to him that raping kids is wrong?" Victor cut in. "Are you fucking hearing yourself?"

  Emery's words caught, his brain feeling like mush.

  "The guy was unstable from the start, man. Long before he ever met you I'm betting. And don't get sentimental about his keeping you on as his beneficiary, because in doing so he severely fucked you the hell over."

  That was true. He wondered if it had been on purpose. Emery shook his head and sat down. "I can't believe it. After everything…I'm actually sorry that he's dead."

  "I know, Em. I went through this shit when my mother died. Granted, she never did anything to me as fucked up as all that, but I get where you're coming from."

  Emery nodded, leaning his face down into his hands tiredly. "What do we do now?"

  "Honestly, I have no fucking clue. I guess the only thing to do is face the music and go to Ludkov. We've still got that file he wants anyhow."

  "Perfect," he replied disdainfully. "Not without a bloody cup of tea."
/>   "So we'll get some. Let me just check on Georgie."

  Emery looked up, feeling ashamed about forgetting her. "Yes, please do."

  * * *

  Victor noted that the wood floor was slightly rotted as he made his way down the hall towards the bathroom. They would definitely have to do a little cleaning for this pad to be livable for any duration longer than a day. Roach corpses and cobwebs galore. He cautiously stopped outside the bathroom door, which hung open. Georgie was inside, dressed down to nothing but her underwear as she twisted at the mirror to examine her left set of ribs. Victor could see even from a distance that the skin was black and blue. He hesitantly knocked on the doorframe.

  Georgie turned over a shoulder to look at him, but didn't seem the slightest bit concerned about him seeing her in her nearly nude state. "Yes?"

  "Can I come in?"

  "The restroom's occupied at the moment," she replied shortly.

  "Yeah, I can see that. I wanted to look at you."

  "Well get an eyeful and be on your way, then."

  Jesus, she was wound tight. Victor came in anyway and approached her with a hand up. "I have medical training, okay? Let me see the injury."

  She gave him a suspicious side-glare. "Medical training."

  "I was in med school for a year and a half and I've been forced to patch folks up ever since. I'm the closest thing to a doctor most crews I'm with ever meet."

  Georgie sighed with a wince and leaned over the sink. "A jack of all trades, aren't you?"

  "And a king of none. Let me see." Victor stepped closer, laying his hands on her bruises and carefully feeling the damaged tissue. "Hurt when you breathe?"

  "Like hell."

  "But you can, right? No shortness of breath? You feel dizzy?"

  "No."

  "Mm hm." He prodded at a few places, noting her reaction each time carefully. "I didn't mean to get on your case earlier. It's just, you know, when someone tries to kill you it sort of sets you on edge."

  "I'm well aware."

  "You really don't know why those guys were after you?"

  Georgie said nothing, continuing to stare ahead.

  Victor cleared his throat. "Ludkov would give you more guys, wouldn't he? Look into it, keep them off your ass?"

  She quickly met his eyes in the mirror. "He can't know about this."

  Victor's hands paused. "You don't think it would be in your benefit to use your resident Mafioso as your protector? What good is working for him if he can't do that?"

  She shook her head. "I haven't fully earned his trust back. If he knows there are men after me, he's liable to get rid of the problem at its source."

  "You mean kill you. He'd do that?"

  "I don't know and I don't want to find out. Please, Victor. He can't know about this."

  Victor nodded, withdrawing his hands. "Seems like a minor fracture. You should ice it."

  "Much obliged." She straightened up, reaching around him to grab her shirt. Once he had it she stared up at him for a moment contemplatively. "I didn't account for this. I have to admit I was a little worried when Emery went to confront Eaton that something would blow up between them, but when they parted ways without either being dead my hopes were considerably higher."

  Victor folded his arms and leaned back against the wall. "Yeah. Mine too."

  "Do you know why their relationship was so volatile?"

  Victor glanced out the door. "That's not my story to tell."

  She nodded in understanding and pulled her pants off the towel rack. "I'll figure something out," she said, almost to herself.

  "About what?"

  "About fixing this."

  "I don't get it," Victor admitted. "Why does it matter so much to you what happens to Emery?"

  "…He's a good man. He doesn't deserve all that he's gotten."

  Well, he might deserve some of it. He flung himself into trouble this time—it didn't just find him by chance. But ultimately he supposed she was right. "Sure, but that's not your problem."

  "It's not yours either, but here you stand."

  Victor stared down at her for a long moment before pushing himself back up straight. "Okay. We won't mention the assassin thing to Ludkov. We'll have your back, just so long as you promise to have ours."

  Georgie visibly calmed. "Most assuredly, Vic."

  * * *

  Ludkov's den was more bustling than ever. In the past men generally seemed to be shuffling around in the shadows, but at present they were crawling frantically over the building like ants and Emery didn't like the look of it one bit. It looked like they were gearing up for something, and he had a nagging suspicion that whatever it was involved him. As soon as he, Victor, and Georgie made it inside, a path cleared in the bodies for them towards the backrooms. Emery was trailing behind his two associates as he heard someone calling out from behind. "Uh, excuse me."

  He turned over a shoulder, raising an eyebrow at none other than Dave, who was scuttling up behind him. "Yes?"

  "Um, hi. I-it's Peter, right?"

  Emery snorted. "No. It isn't."

  "Em?" Victor called from ahead.

  Emery waved a hand at him to dismiss concern.

  "Oh," Dave said, blinking between them. "I get it. That was a codename. What's 'M' short for, then? Martin? Matthew?"

  "Emery."

  Dave stared for a long moment. "That don't start with an 'M'."

  Emery lidded his eyes. "What do you want, Dave?"

  Dave gestured to two fellows standing behind him. "Oh, uh, I'm supposed to tell you that me and these two blokes are part of your service now. Boss's orders."

  "What?" Emery peered around him at the other two men and shook his head. "What on earth does he suppose I need an entourage for?"

  Dave shrugged. "I dunno. But see, with Eaton dead and all we don't got work no more. So we got assigned under you. Uh, Sir."

  Emery rubbed his brow in frustration, glancing back at Victor and Georgie's curious faces. "Then you're fired."

  The three men looked instantly panicked. "No, please, don't do that," Dave begged. "If you don't take us, there'll be nothing to get paid for. We'll be out of work."

  "Oh, for Christ's sake. Just stay here. Don't bother me unless I ask for something, understand?"

  Three heads nodded and Emery whipped back around.

  "You got it Mr. M."

  His own gaggle of morons. Well, wasn't he just moving up in the world? Emery quickly tried to bite back his rancorous attitude and continued on into the back room with his two companions. Ludkov was standing at a table, rattling off words in Russian to Yuri, who was seated at said table and appeared to be taking notes. When he saw them enter he gave Yuri some command and turned to face them. "Mr. Fletcher. Mr. Scott. A pleasure to be seeing you again."

  I'm just sure, Emery thought bitterly. "Hello, Mr. Ludkov."

  "Did you procure the file I asked you for?"

  Emery held it up.

  Ludkov smiled. "You are indeed an impressive specimen…" He glanced at Georgie and she quickly took this cue, taking the file and bringing it to him. Ludkov thumbed through it for a moment but quickly lost interest, tossing it onto the table behind him and crossing his arms as he leaned against its edge. "I must offer you my condolences. I am sure by now you have heard the news."

  "I have," Emery confirmed. "And I take it this changes our arrangement some, correct?"

  Ludkov scratched at his throat. "Perhaps it does, Mr. Fletcher. But this is to your advantage. Now there is no room for me to question your value."

  Emery sighed internally. "Where does that leave us, then?"

  Ludkov held up a hand in a shrug-like gesture. "I will give you all that you wanted. Details. The truth behind your stepfather's empire. The identities of your new friends, as well as your new enemies. I have already put men under you."

  "So I've come to learn," Emery replied.

  "And you know why I have done this?"

  "Can't say I'm certain, no."

 
Ludkov nodded, looking down for a moment in thought. "Are you curious about the jobs I have been asking you to do?"

  "It's not an employee's place to question the decisions of his employer."

  "Employee," Ludkov scoffed lightly. "No, Mr. Fletcher. This was the old arrangement, yes? I want you now to think of us as partners."

  Somehow that was worse. "In any case, with all due respect, it doesn't bode well for one to ask too many questions when working with the Russian mob."

  Ludkov shook his head, suddenly very serious. "You do not work with the Bratva. You work with me. This must be clear."

  "Very well."

  Ludkov eyed him for a moment before seeming satisfied. "So, let me explain to you our situation. Frederick Malcom, the one I assigned you to follow, works for a man you will come to know as your enemy. He is a heroin distributor, a brute, a power hungry mogul seeking control of the city's underbelly. He refers to himself as the Dutchman, and he is a problem."

  Emery glanced at Georgie. "Forgive me, but I don't see how I can help you there. I was under the impression the reason I was here was that you wanted continued use of Hunter's dock."

  "This matter is of more importance. That contract can be discussed at a later time."

  This Emery was not expecting. "…Alright."

  Ludkov held a hand to his chest. "I may continue?"

  "Please."

  "There is another man. His name is Aaron Hennessey and he runs an unrefined but fierce gang of hoodlums in the heart of London. What they lack in organization they make up for in vast influence and large numbers. Hennessey is also displeased by the Dutchman's burgeoning presence as of late. Now, in such an instance, you might suppose that the enemy of my enemy is my friend. However this is not so. Hennessey has no trust for the Russians, and therefore no trust for myself. He is a proud individual who overestimates himself. The Dutchman has attempted to extend a truce, but he turns a cold shoulder to this. He is loath to make alliances with any people but his own. The only man that could exact such a truce is the one ally the two opposing parties have in common. Mr. Casper Barclay."

  Victor let out a short whistle.

  Emery looked at him curiously before turning back to Ludkov. "So why hasn't he done it?"

  Victor filled in the gap. "Because he was killed two years ago running a botched kidnapping under his favorite alias."