Allegiance (Twisted Book 4) Read online

  Allegiance

  Twisted #4

  Rebecca Sherwin

  Copyright © 2015

  Rebecca R Sherwin

  All Rights Reserved.

  This book is a work of fiction. Characters, places, events and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty One

  Twenty Two

  Twenty Three

  Twenty Four

  Twenty Five

  Twenty Six

  Twenty Seven

  Twenty Eight

  Twenty Nine

  Thirty

  Thirty One

  Thirty Two

  Thirty Three

  Thirty Four

  Thirty Five

  Thirty Six

  Thirty Seven

  Thirty Eight

  Thirty Nine

  Forty

  Forty One

  Forty Two

  Forty Three

  Marked (A Twisted Standalone)

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Rocco by Tracie Podger

  Allegiance

  No one said life would be easy. No one said you were guaranteed a win.

  No one ever promised a happy ever after.

  We come into this world alone, we leave it alone, and we spend our lives in a solitary battle for survival.

  We fight and win. We fight and lose.

  But we fight. We never give up.

  We hurt and heal. We endanger and protect.

  We love and hate.

  Eventually this lonesome crusade, this one-man army, this strive for truth – for justice – needs something else.

  Power. Determination. Madness.

  A connection so powerful the enemies of your past and present won't stand a chance.

  It’s not about being alone anymore.

  It’s not about fighting an uphill battle you’re never going to win.

  It’s about the mission. It’s about justice, revenge, and the journey to infinity. It’s about battling the evil that threatens your very existence.

  In the blink of an eye, everything depends on that one unit, that one common goal; that bond that can’t be broken.

  It depends on the allegiance…

  One

  Jesse ‘the Gentleman’ Kennedy

  Christmas. A happy time of getting in debt and piling on more pounds than you can ever hope to lose. Sparkly lights and tinsel. Cinnamon and nutmeg. Children laughing and counting down the days until the man in red squeezes his fat ass down their magic chimneys. Jolly‘ho ho ho’s from the chubby blokes outside shops who stink of alcohol and beg you for money for charity.

  Family.

  That was the worst part. The fucking f-word that brought bile to the back of my throat and made me shudder. All I shared with the rest of the Kennedy family was blood and a last name. No common interests. No common goals. My brother, AJ, and I couldn’t share oxygen without spitting venom of resentment at each other.

  The last thing I wanted to do was spend Christmas Day in our ostentatious family home, pretending we didn’t hate each other. I sure as hell didn’t want to use up precious energy trying not to wring Arthur Kennedy Jr.’s neck, when I’d worked a double shift at John Radcliffe Hospital last night. Dealing with drunks who choked on their own vodka-infused vomit was not my idea of a happy induction into Christmas 2013. It made it a hundred times worse when I had to break the news to a young woman that her husband had died on my operating table after being run off the road by one of those drunks. She broke down and clutched onto my sweat-soaked shirt, while I held my breath and prayed I didn’t carry the scent of death with me.

  She’d lost her family on Christmas Eve and I would have done anything to get out of spending Christmas with mine.

  The temptation to spend Christmas Day in bed was strong, but I pulled myself out from under the bed clothes, huffed, sighed and padded heavily through the flat to the kitchen. I flipped the switch for the coffee machine; the hiss as the water began heating and the smell that billowed up as ground coffee beans met boiling H2O made me roll my eyes and lick my lips. My phone rang on the counter in front of me. Cut Throat Curtis Mason. My brother from another mother. Lord knew I loved him more than AJ. We’d known each other for three years, and our connection was instantaneous. I met him and found a brother – one I would die for, and trust my life with.

  I answered the call, intending to sound far more alert than the gravelly grumble that came out.

  “Did I wake you up?”

  “Nah, the coffee is still filtering. I’ll be human in about six minutes. Merry Christmas.”

  Curtis snorted in response. I felt bad for him; he’d been alone for too long. Orphaned as a kid, he hadn’t spent a Christmas with his parents for thirty years. Having lost a brother, the twin of the woman he loved – a woman he was desperate to find and protect – Curtis was spending Christmas alone avoiding Charlie Tattersell, the woman who held him captive. I wanted to spend Christmas with Curtis, eating shit food and watching equally shit TV, but I couldn’t let my mother and sister down. I’d be spending the day with AJ and that was a punishment I wouldn’t inflict on my worst enemy.

  “Yeah, you too.”

  He sounded miserable. I sounded miserable. We were a right fucking pair. I put my coffee together while we talked, and ended the conversation in favour of rushing to my room when I realised I’d miss Christmas completely if I didn’t hurry up.

  Curtis knew how much I hated spending time with my family. It wasn’t my mother, Catherine, or sister, Amy, or even my father, Arthur Kennedy Sr. I wanted to avoid, although I would have gladly taped the man’s mouth shut to stop him from giving AJ more ammo. AJ had bullied me since I was a kid; a classic, textbook bully, abusing me because he didn’t have two brain cells to rub together. He’d picked on me for everything, unaware I’d use it to my advantage. He said I was too skinny, too weak, and used to throw me around to prove his point. It didn’t matter that he was five years older than me; he thought I was weak, so he made me look it. What did I do? I learned to fight. I picked up boxing at five-years-old and loved it from the moment I walked into the gym with my father. I’d just started secondary school when I turned up at AJ’s gym and sailed past him in the rankings. I was twelve-years-old and out-running, out-boxing, and out-manning my seventeen-year-old brother, who had been beating me down for years while I learned how to fight back. It pissed him off. He fucking hated me, but he’d dare not touch me through fear I’d lay him out.

  Then came the stupid remarks. I laughed whenever I thought about it because anyone would know how stupid he was the second he opened his mouth. He thought I was the dumb Kennedy; the one with no aspirations and no hope for the future, so what did I do? Studied my ass off my entire school life, got into Oxford University and became a surgeon. Studying was as easy as tying my shoelaces. AJ? AJ became our father’s bitch. He hoped he’d inherit the company when Dad finally snuffed it, but even stupid old me knew that was never going to happen. AJ could just about find his way out of bed in the morning without being handed a map. Dad wanted me to take over the company, but it was a job offer I was happy to refuse.

  The streets were e
mpty when I walked the mile to find my car. It was the closest space I’d been able to find at two in the morning without fighting off the taxis and designated drivers ferrying the drunk home.

  The roads were quiet too. I only passed a few cars on the way out of the city, too quickly to see if they were as thrilled with the Christmas f-word visit as I was.

  The ringing of my phone interrupted my awful fantasy X Factor audition and I glanced at the screen.

  “Marilyn,” I answered.

  “Jesse,” she replied in a whiney tone that made me scowl.

  Her name wasn’t Marilyn, obviously, but I could keep some distance between us if I called her by her stripper name. Her name was Kerry, and she was gorgeous. She had dark hair, with highlights that ranged from angelic gold, to devilish auburn and green eyes that rendered me speechless whenever I looked into them. She was naturally pretty; soft beauty that didn’t need red lips, that black shit women put on their eyes and the hairspray she smothered herself in when she got into character. She was at her most beautiful when she was sitting on her sofa in my t-shirt, with sex-mussed hair.

  Which was exactly why I still called her Marilyn.

  “Merry Christmas,” I said eventually, after picturing her in bed naked and lying on her back, waiting for me.

  “Merry Christmas, Dr Kennedy.” I closed my eyes, just for a second. I loved it when she called me that, and she knew it. “Are you heading to your parents’?”

  “I am. I’m on my way now. You?”

  Please say no.

  “Not for a few hours. Want to make a U-turn?”

  I was already looking for signs for the next exit.

  “Give me an hour.”

  I hung up and switched lanes, preparing to get off the motorway as soon as I could.

  I wasn’t purposely being an asshole and making myself late to the family home. Okay, I was, but with reason. The one thing I hadn’t managed to prove to AJ? My sexuality. He thought I was gay, and turning up late for Christmas smelling of a woman’s perfume and sex would fix that.

  I climbed the steps to Marilyn’s apartment and saw her already waiting for me. I shook my head, unsure if I was happy to see she’d missed me as much as I’d missed her, or because I wanted her to make me work for it. Still, I reached the landing, slowed down as I approached her to make her wait a little longer, and stopped in front of her. I leaned into the door frame with just a breath’s distance between us.

  “Tell me again.”

  She smiled, licked her lips and kept her eyes on mine as she whispered, “Merry Christmas, Dr Kennedy.”

  I launched myself into the apartment taking her with me, my hands cupping her cheeks and my tongue parting her lips. Kicking the door shut behind me, I backed her up towards the sofa until it hit the back of her knees and we tumbled onto it. She giggled; I groaned because that seductive laugh electrified my senses and jolted my body to life. My mouth slid along her jaw, my teeth grazed her neck and nipped the soft flesh – anything to make her laugh again. She did, and sighed, and held me close with her hands on my lower back.

  “Jesse,” she breathed, cutting through my rushed thoughts and halting my movements. “Slow down. Enjoy it. Enjoy us.”

  She told me that almost every time we were together. Slow down.

  Everything I’d ever done, I’d gone full throttle, full speed, with tunnel vision and a one-tracked mind. I’d spent my life trying to be one step ahead of AJ, and be prepared for whatever criticism he threw my way.

  But not this. Not her.

  She lowered her hand to my chest as I took deep breaths and focused on the feel of her cold fingers on my burning body.

  “Slow,” she said, and my breath instinctively slowed. My racing heart began to calm. “Slow.”

  She shifted, climbing out from under me, and smiled as I rolled onto my back and threw my arms behind my head.

  “Stay there.”

  I watched with hungry eyes as she began removing her clothes; first her t-shirt, then the smart trousers that told me she was more ready for Christmas with her family than I was. I blinked once to rid the thoughts as her hands moved round to take off her bra. She was standing in front of me wearing nothing but the deep purple shorts that matched the discarded bra at her feet. I wanted to jump up, pull her onto me and bury myself inside her, so I took another deep breath.

  Slow down.

  I couldn’t afford to fall in love with her. I couldn’t feel anything beyond the physical, but I could slow down and enjoy that, and as Marilyn threw her leg over my waist and lowered her body to mine with nimble fingers working to undo my zip, that’s exactly what I decided to do.

  **

  “Call me Kerry,” she’d asked, after I’d flipped her over and covered her body with mine.

  The car flew towards East Sussex while I thought about it. I was beyond late, it was getting dark and I’d missed three calls from my mother and sister while I was with Kerry.

  It wasn’t that I didn’t respect her. I did. She was supporting herself through a law degree and working at Angels to pay for food and train tickets to visit her parents. She was sweet, funny, and a minx beneath modest day-clothes. I didn’t judge her for working at Angels; I only judged her for allowing me to touch her when she believed I looked at her and saw nothing but a blonde-haired, white dress-wearing stripper called Marilyn. I shouldn’t have let it get to me, but it did.

  I could be an asshole; everyone who knew me knew that, but I didn’t disrespect women. I loved my mother and Amy and, despite the attitude my father and AJ shared when it came to women, I believed they should be respected. So, I agreed to call her Kerry. It went against everything I wanted from a relationship, but I had a feeling Kerry was different. She made me feel different.

  As I got closer to the house, I called my mother. Her phone went to voicemail – so did Amy’s, and I’d be damned if I was going to call Dad or AJ, so I applied more pressure on the accelerator and sped towards the house. I wanted to avoid AJ, but I didn’t want to upset my parents and sister by turning up late and smelling like sex. I really was an idiot, and I’d missed Christmas. I reached out and searched for a bottle of aftershave and packet of mints to disguise the smell as I approached the turning for the house.

  A bright flash caught my attention and I looked up from the glovebox.

  Fire.

  I was still five hundred yards from the house, but I could see the violent flames pouring from my family’s coastal home. Thick black plumes of smoke pumped out, blackening the night sky until I couldn’t see beyond the windscreen.

  The gates of the driveway were open as I pulled in, slammed on the brakes and jumped out of the car. The fire was so bright; the inside of the house was a blazing orange and I could see flames through every window. The thatched roof had ignited and become a raging inferno. What the fuck was happening?

  I called out to my family, each of them in turn until panic made my voice shaky. There was no response, but I kept calling, again and again and again. I could hear the cracking and creaking of the wood inside as it incinerated.

  I had to help them.

  I called them all again as I ran towards the house and looked for a way in. The front door was leaking thick black smoke. I couldn’t get to them. The heat made my eyes water and my skin stung as it burned and began to perspire.

  “Help!” I cried. “Help!”

  There was no help coming. The house was in the middle of nowhere, settled near a clifftop with the nearest house a mile away.

  I ran back to my car, skidding on the gravel and falling into the driver’s seat. I fumbled with my phone and dialled 999.

  “Hello, emergency service operator. Which service do you require?”

  “Help! I need everything. The house is on fire. My family are in there. Please, help.”

  “Okay, sir, stay calm. What’s the address?”

  I told her, coughing and hyperventilating. I took a step towards the house as a window smashed and flames came shooting out
.

  “Sir,” she continued. “I need you to step away. Get as far back as you can. Help is coming.”

  “I have to help them,” I said. “I have to get in there.”

  “What’s your name?” she asked in a calm voice that made me want to wring her neck for not panicking with me.

  “Jesse.”

  “Okay, Jesse. Stay on the phone with me, help is coming. Do not go near the building. Can you hear me, Jesse? I need you to move back and keep yourself safe.”

  “Tell me how to get in there. I have to do something.”

  The adrenaline was telling me to fuck the backdraft and find a way to get into the house. I heard a creak and a groan before half of the roof fell into the house and sent a wave of smoke and ash around me.

  “The roof fell down. Please, God. I can go in. I can save them.”

  As I took a step forward, something sharp hit me. I looked down and saw blood, and a slice in the top of my arm. I ignored the pain. I had to get closer. I had to help.

  “Jesse?” the woman on the line called. “Jesse, is someone there with you?”

  “No, I came alone - ah!” Another strike, this time in the right shoulder. It knocked me back and the sudden burn in my body hurt more than the heat from the flaming house. “Someone’s shooting at me.”

  I dropped to the ground behind the car, cursing as my phone slid from my hand and out of reach. Someone here was trying to kill me. I turned and pressed my back to the side of the car watching the light on my phone fade. I’d been shot. Someone had a gun and they’d fucking shot me. Grinding my teeth I shoved my fingers into the hole in my shoulder and turned to look through the windows. Like in slow motion the bullet left the barrel of the gun, travelled through the air, shattered the passenger window, then the driver’s window and passed my head. I ducked back behind the car, but not before I recognised the man with his arms outstretched and a gun pointing in my direction.

  Of course my brother had a piss-poor aim.