Cruel Castle E-Book

Bryony Pearce

• Herausgeber: Little Tiger Press
• Kategorie: Für Kinder und Jugendliche
• Serie: Red Eye
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 313

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021

Beschreibung

They thought the island was the end. It was only the beginning…Having survived the horrors of Savage Island, Grady is now stuck working for Gold, the psychopath who masterminded the gruesome competition. Sent on a "team-building exercise" in a remote castle, he starts to plot his escape.Ben and Lizzie are in hiding, presumed dead after escaping the island. If they're ever to return to their families, they need to bring Gold down. So they secretly join Grady in the castle. But as the doors slam shut and the series of deadly challenges between them and freedom are revealed, it looks like history is going to repeat itself...A RED EYE horror novel for teens, this gripping sequel to SAVAGE ISLAND is full of fast-paced action and gruesome twists and turns.

Leseprobe

For my readers in the Wirral, who told me how badly they needed a sequel to Savage Island and inspired me to write it for them.

Contents

Title PageDedicationFloor planWhere It All Finished: BenChapter One: GradyChapter Two: LizzieChapter Three: GradyChapter Four: LizzieChapter Five: GradyChapter Six: BenChapter Seven: GradyChapter Eight: GradyChapter Nine: BenChapter Ten: GradyChapter Eleven: GradyChapter Twelve: GradyChapter Thirteen: LizzieChapter Fourteen: BenChapter Fifteen: WillChapter Sixteen: GradyChapter Seventeen: WillChapter Eighteen: GradyChapter Nineteen: WillChapter Twenty: LizzieChapter Twenty-one: GradyChapter Twenty-two: LizzieChapter Twenty-three: LizzieChapter Twenty-four: WillChapter Twenty-five: GradyChapter Twenty-six: LizzieChapter Twenty-seven: WillChapter Twenty-eight: LizzieChapter Twenty-nine: WillChapter Thirty: BenChapter Thirty-one: GradyAcknowledgementsAbout the AuthorCopyright

Who can you trust, when everyone is broken?

Where It All Finished

Ben

Grady’s hands were round my throat and I was too weak to fight him off. I was going to die but I couldn’t bring myself to care. I turned my face from his and found Lizzie’s. She was lying in the sand where I had left her; one cheek submerged in the rolling surf almost as if she was watching me. I’m coming, I thought. Wherever you are, wait for me.

Grady put his mouth next to mine as he squeezed, as though he wanted to feel my last breath against his. Then he turned. His lips found my ear and I shuddered, my muscles twitching, the instinct to survive battling with my desire to follow the girl I had loved since I was six years old.

“She’s not dead.”

I jerked, unable to comprehend. His words: whirling, meaningless syllables. I blinked slowly and realized that while Grady was still shaking me, he wasn’t squeezing as tightly. I could breathe.

“She’s not dead.” The words came again. “Remember my medical kit? I slipped her a bunch of sleeping pills.” I twisted, trying to look him in the eye, but his face remained too close. “I’m serious,” he hissed. “She’s taken an overdose – her heart rate and respiration are way down. It’s enough to fool Gold’s cameras but she should wake up tomorrow.” Grady swallowed, so close that I could feel the lurch of his Adam’s apple. “What I did to Carmen… Someone was going to die, and she was already so badly hurt. It made sense for it to be her. But I won’t be made to perform like a monkey. I’ve got more pills. If you reach for my shirt pocket, you’ll find them.”

I stared at Lizzie with Grady’s hands still pressed against my throat. Was it possible? Was her pallor just sea-cold and not death, as I’d assumed. I was no doctor. I didn’t really know how to tell. Or was Grady toying with me? An additional cruelty before he killed me. Gold had said he was a psychopath, like my brother. Maybe he needed a little more spice with his murder. Hope before a final twist of the knife.

“I can’t drag this out much longer,” Grady whispered. “The cameras are on us – they’re everywhere. This won’t seem real if you don’t hurry.”

I groped for his chest with stiff fingers and found his pocket. With my hand between our bodies, it would appear as if I was trying to shove him off me. I pushed my fingers inside and felt pills. I scraped them into my palm. I had no idea how many: more than three, less than ten. I pulled my hand free and put it to my mouth, then I hesitated.

“Trust me,” Grady hissed.

I didn’t. He’d sided with Gold and killed Carmen. But … what choice did I have? Either I took this chance or he strangled me. What difference did it make? I looked at Lizzie’s face and pressed my palm against my lips. The pills tumbled on to my tongue and into my throat, choking me.

“Drum your heels against the ground,” Grady instructed. “It’ll look as if you’re dying.”

I am dying, I thought. My head started to spin and even though I was lying on the cold grit of the beach, I felt as if I was going to fall off. My limbs grew heavy and I gripped Grady as terror momentarily gave me strength. I felt sick, but nothing came up. Instead I went down.

Down.

    Down.

I kick the covers off as I wake with a scream. It’s the same every night, that memory of dying. I roll over and off the bed, holding my head in my shaking hands, my eyes raw and aching. I know I won’t see Lizzie when I open them. The nightmares are worse when she leaves the room as if I know, even when unconscious, that she has abandoned me to them.

Knowing there will be no more sleep, I stagger into the dingy bathroom of the Welsh bed and breakfast (cash payments, no questions asked) and stare into the mirror.

Will stares back at me. It’s crazy how much I look like him now, with my ginger hair dyed brown and grown out.

I touch the cold glass. “Well, I slept on it.” I run my finger down the curve of his – my – cheek. I twist my mouth into his sardonic smile. “I said I would, and I did. So, what do you think, Will?” I lean closer, putting my forehead against his. “Should we help Grady?”

Chapter One

Grady

“A stranger is a friend you haven’t met yet.” That’s what my mother used to say. Of course, that was before my father did a number on her and she killed herself.

Anyway, she was wrong. Not just about my father, otherwise she would never have married the good doctor, but about everything. A stranger isn’t a friend I haven’t met yet. A stranger is a puzzle I haven’t solved yet.

That’s what I see when I look at you. Your face is one of those sliding puzzles – move the pieces in the right configuration and I get the picture I want: a smile, a laugh, tears, anger … rage. You are nothing more than a puzzle. A simple one. What makes you work? What will make you offer to carry my bag, protect me from danger or push you over the edge? What will turn you into my ace in the hole, waiting to take on Gold for me, if I need you to?

I’m not broken, my father was clear about that. No, I’m better than you. If you weren’t so easy to solve, I wouldn’t be able to get you to do what I want. It’s your own fault.

Click, shush, click, shush. I don’t need to look up to know that Bella just shimmied into the break room, her short skirt brushing toned, tanned skin, her high heels tapping against tile. I don’t need to look up, but I do. I can appreciate art, although I’ve always been more of a Cubist person. I’m sure that Picasso saw people the same way as I do. In pieces.

She’s striking a pose against the door frame. Even the smallest gesture of hers is calculated according to its aesthetic. She won’t move until I show some appreciation. Today her lustrous black hair is curling down her back, pinned at the front to pull it away from her high cheekbones and cat-like black eyes.

Knowing it’s what she needs, I give her a smile and let appreciation shine in my eyes. With a purr of satisfaction, she sashays into the room.

“Grady.” Her voice is mellow and smooth. She has an Italian accent and in her mouth the ay in my name is emphasized, the ee sound falling away. “Aren’t you meant to be working, caro?” She carefully shifts a few degrees, so her ass is facing me, bends down to open the fridge and removes a mineral water. She turns her head to look at me over her shoulder. “Those charts won’t analyze themselves.”

I allow a hitch into my breath as I reply. “I’ve run all the numbers. Just taking a break before I write up my findings.”

“You’re almost done?” She twists off the top then tips her head back to drink, allowing me to watch the bobbing column of her throat.

“Y-yes.” The stutter is deliberate. She smiles around the bottle.

“So, perhaps, Grady, you could take a look at mine? You’re so much faster than I am.” She touches a finger to her mouth, wiping a bead of water away with her fingertip.

I wonder for a moment how hard I should make her work for it. She has given me a show and it would be no skin off my nose. Numbers are easy, if boring. Let her think she has me, that I’m curled round her little finger. It’ll be all the more effective when I take it back.

“Sure, Bella.” I let myself sound pathetic. I know what she sees when she looks at me – an amusing conspiracy theorist carrying a layer of fat round my waist that no amount of exercise can shift, a rumpled suit, glasses that I’ve recently adopted. “Did you know that the CIA operates an illegal drug cartel?” I add enthusiastically.

Bella laughs. “Meet me at my desk and I’ll show you the work you can help with, Grady.”

I’m harmless. I’m the guy next door. I’m the one no one would ever believe could hurt them.

And yet…

As Bella glides out, she glances back, her expression momentarily speculative. This place looks like an office, but it isn’t. It’s a shark tank. And Bella has to be wondering, am I really that much of a minnow?

“You shouldn’t let her do that to you.” Aanay had been standing behind the cupboard the whole time. Bella hadn’t even noticed him. He spends as much time in here as he can, away from the rest of the predators.

I arrange my mouth into the shape of a smile. “I don’t mind.”

“I shouldn’t care, but…” He blushes. “You’re better than that.”

I shrug, push my empty coffee mug to one side, and stand. “If I don’t do her work, she might lose her place on the programme and then what would we have to look at?”

“You really think she’d lose her place on the programme?” Aanay looks up, hope shining in his eyes. I don’t think it had occurred to him that he could get himself kicked off the grad scheme by being a poor employee. It’s all I’ve been thinking about. I just haven’t worked out the best way of failing, without the kind of retribution that would surely follow.

“Honestly?” I sigh. “No, I don’t. Gold wants the work done, so does it matter how it happens? She’s effective at getting her quotas met. This isn’t about how good we are at the job – it’s about showing we can run a company. The people who work for Bella Russo will be very happy and extremely productive.”

Aanay blushes again, the colour creeping up his collar and over his cheeks. I fight the instinct to apologise. He’s so quiet, so still, sometimes I want to do something to make him yell swear words.

He doesn’t want to be here any more than I do. I tilt my head and watch his flush deepen. How did he even get on to Gold’s graduate programme? I can’t see him doing what I did. I can’t see him committing murder. But … maybe he’s a great white shark in disguise as a minnow. Maybe he’s the best actor in here.

One day I’ll find out.

He holds out his hand for my empty cup and when I give it to him, he starts to wash it up.

“You cleaning for us now, Bukhari?” The clones move in a school and now they’re here, all six of them: Aamon, Bram, Damien, Jason, Dawson and Bates. They’re the same as far as I can tell. All white males, all dressed in matching two-piece suits, all dead-eyed.

Before I’d been forced to work in Gold’s London office, there’d been the island. We’d thought it would be three days of fun with a huge cash prize at the end. We hadn’t known it was Gold’s recruitment ground; that he was looking for psychopaths to employ in his corporation. He wanted ruthless business leaders to take over his various companies, and he wanted videos of them doing terrible things, so they would never go against his orders. We hadn’t realized that the cash prize would come with a price: a job offer, and that turning it down was not an option.

I won the game on the island. I earned the cash prize, the job offer … and a lifetime of servitude under Marcus Gold.

I’d say I sold my soul, but I don’t believe I ever had one.

There’d been another boy on Aikenhead, Reece Armstrong. He’d been the one to start the violence: he cut off Carmen’s hand. He’d have fitted in very well with the clones.

Carmen killed him in the end. And I killed Carmen. I look at my hands. The brutality of it all came as a bit of a shock, but in the end it wasn’t so bad. Still, after killing Carmen I decided it would be the last time. If killing needs to be done, I’ll manipulate others into doing it for me.

When Gold insisted that I exterminate Lizzie and Ben, I decided not to. Why should I bow to anyone?

I let Lizzie live in order to keep Ben onside, and I kept Ben alive in case I needed a trump card. We were lucky that Gold wanted only his own people to see the bodies. He offered to pay for the funerals of all those killed on the island, as long as they were cremated right away. Ben and Lizzie woke in the morgue, swapped their toe tags with corpses, and ran. I don’t know or care whose ashes their families cry over.

“You’re a great little servant, Bukhari,” Jason drawls. “Let’s hear you say, ‘what can I do for you today, sir?’”

I wonder for a moment whether to get involved or stand back. There are six of them and one of me. I can’t say there are two of us because Aanay won’t stand up for himself. Soon I’ll find out why he’s so determined to be such a doormat.

Ben wouldn’t have hesitated; he’d have already been yelling at Jason. Lizzie would have simply launched herself at Dawson, and Will would have joined in, just because he loved to hurt people. If Ben had been here, no one would have dared touch Aanay.

I’m not Ben.

I know how this will play out. They’ll humiliate Aanay, he’ll take it. They probably won’t hurt him. I can walk away.

But … they think Aanay is my friend. If I walk away, they’ll see me as weak. This is a shark tank. The weak get eaten.

On the other hand, I don’t get my hands dirty. “Hey!” I call. “Bella, can you step in here a minute?”

The boys had been moving to surround Aanay and myself, but now they freeze.

“You—” Bram starts.

Click, swish, click, swish.

Bella steps into the room and assesses the situation. “Buongiorno, boys. What is the problem, Grady?” An eyebrow rises.

“Just wanted to let you know it might be a little while before I can get to your spreadsheets.” I allow a little tremble into my voice, a slight stutter.

Bella’s eyes narrow. “That won’t do, Grady.” She looks at Dawson. He’s watching her, his fingers tapping almost unconsciously against the notebook he keeps in his trouser pocket. I make a mental note to get a look inside that thing.

“We’re just havin’ a bit of fun, Bella,” he says, his cockney accent the one thing that makes him stand out among the clones. “It’s our break, innit?”

“Grady’s break is over.” Bella steps forwards and touches a finger to the button of Dawson’s navy suit jacket. She plays with it gently, then gives it a sudden twist. “He’s already agreed to help me.”

“Grady can go,” Jason snaps, his eyes tight on Aanay.

Bella looks at me and I shrug, as if helpless. She sighs. “And Aanay. I’m certain that he has work of his own to be doing.” She leans in as if to whisper in Dawson’s ear. “Christopher Gold is coming to inspect the floor. I think we should all have work to show him, don’t you?”

Dawson swallows. “Gold’s son?”

Bella steps back from him. “He texted me.” She holds up her phone with a slight smile.

“Why would he…” Jason leans to snatch the phone from her, but Dawson slaps his hand away.

“Don’t touch her.”

Jason curls a lip, shakes his hand and leans back again.

“You know why he would text me.” Bella’s smile is sultry.

Dawson’s eyes flick to her lips, then back to her eyes. His own are cloudy with disappointment. “Yes, Bella.”

She straightens his tie and speaks to me without looking away from Dawson. “Grady, go!”

Jason and Bates watch with narrowed eyes as I reach back, grab Aanay and scuttle from the room, dragging him with me. At least now they know I’ll put up a fight, in my own way. They’ll be looking for payback, but what’s new?

This office is filled with psychopaths. I can’t be any more alert to danger than I already am.

Chapter Two

Lizzie

Ben is talking to himself again. He thinks I haven’t noticed but he’s staring into the mirror and his mutters are like rats crawling up the inside of the walls of this creepy B&B.

It’s something he’s been doing since leaving the island. He has always been, quite literally, his brother’s keeper and I honestly think Will’s death has broken him. One moment he’ll be Ben, the next his eyes are dead and he’s gone. He never remembers.

I rub the heel of my hand against my temple. This headache is worse than usual; it’s the stress. I stare at my burner phone, wishing desperately that I could call home and find out how Dad’s doing. He thinks I’m dead, killed in the plane crash Gold faked. If I call home and let him know I’m OK, Gold will find out. He’ll track us down and this time there’ll be no escape.

According to my aunt’s Facebook, the cancer is killing Dad. I want more than anything to be there for him, but I can’t. This whole situation is my fault. I found the Iron Teen contest, I talked Ben and Carmen into going. It’s my fault Carmen’s dead. I’m to blame for Will’s death. Ben has fragmented because of me. If it was just me, I’d risk it and call home. But I can’t put Ben in danger. Anyway, I deserve this pain.

I need to think. We’re talking to Matt from Corruption Watch again later. It’s an NGO – I found it online and made some calls. They’re usually more interested in the arms trade than corporations like Gold’s, but Matt saw right away that Gold’s long-term plan for a kind of capitalist global domination can’t be allowed to succeed. Not to mention all the teenagers left dead in his wake.

I’m not completely sure he believes us, and he can’t do a thing without proof (our being alive isn’t enough to take down Gold), but at least he’s interested in our story.

I could go and put my arms round Ben, talk to him.

He once said he loved me. But what would I say to him now? “Sorry, your brother’s dead because I wanted an adventure.”

I drag my nails through my hair. Even that feels wrong. It’s been short since I lopped off my plaits with nail scissors when I was twelve. Now I’ve grown it and bleached it from raven-black to a dirty blond. It reaches my shoulders and is as dry as straw thanks to the peroxide. It may be a disguise, but I hate it.

I’ve also had to give up the glasses I loved. I have a choice between thick-rimmed NHS specials or contact lenses, because neither look like me. Mostly I wear the contacts. My eyes are bloodshot and bleary thanks to the constant headaches.

“I’m sorry, Ben,” I whisper. “I’m sorry I broke you.” My eyes go to the Gold International uniforms hanging on the back of the bathroom door. Grady took them from a cleaner weeks ago and sent them to our PO box. They dangle there, part of a plan that hasn’t come together yet, a promise that one day soon we’ll take down Gold.

Gold is a billionaire with the resources of a small country. We have two cleaning uniforms, a couple of miniature cameras from a Christmas catalogue and the somewhat sceptical ear of an assistant at an NGO. Somehow, we have to make it work.

We just need something else to fall into place and then we’ll have a chance to go home. We’re just waiting for Grady.

Chapter Three

Grady

Bella was right, Christopher Gold is here. She hadn’t been lying to save my hide, and now he’s stalking the floor like Donald Trump in the White House, glancing at computer screens, flicking through reports and occasionally leaning down to comment in the ear of a smirking clone. When he speaks to Dawson, Dawson stiffens, as if he doesn’t like what Gold is saying. Then Gold claps him on the back and crooks a finger at Bella.

She goes to him, smiling, touching his arm. He speaks low in her ear and I watch her go from preening to pale. Then he walks on and leaves her standing there.

In my opinion, Gold has embraced his name a little strongly. His hair is golden blond, swept back from his face, an expensive cut. His glasses are gilt-rimmed, he sports a golden tan and his tie shimmers with the gold thread running through it. He looks like his father, or like his father would have looked twenty years ago: the same wide jaw, narrow nose and close-set, dead eyes.

As he draws nearer to our little corner of the office, Aanay starts to shake. He’s been staring at his screensaver since Gold arrived, literally terrified out of his mind. Frankly he’s starting to make even me feel nervous.

“Can’t you stop that?” I whisper. “You’re freaking me out.”

There’s one other person Gold has yet to speak to: Iris Pyrite. It looks as if he’s detouring via her desk on his way to see us. She sits on her own, under the long window that overlooks the London skyline. It’s the best seat in the house but I’ve never seen her appreciate the view. She sits, as always, with her ankles crossed, her skirt pulled down to her knees, silk blouse buttoned to her throat. Her suit jacket folded carefully over the back of her chair. Her hair, like Gold’s, is blond, a dark, almost coppery shade, and her eyes are ice-blue. Her skin is pale, not a single freckle, and her nose is what they used to call aquiline. Bella looks as if she’s on track to make or marry money. Iris looks as if she comes from money.

She’s barely said two words to me in the four months I’ve been here. In fact, I’ve never seen her have a conversation with anyone. She never takes a lunch break, only drinks water. I’d love to know what she did to get on the grad programme. I wonder if she got those pale fingers dirty.

Gold speaks to her in a low tone. Her facial expression remains unchanged, but I’m watching closely and I see her fingers grip the desk and tighten until her nails redden.

I glance at Aanay. “What do you think he’s saying to her?” Aanay ignores me. His eyes are tightly closed. I lower my own gaze as Gold saunters in my direction. He stops behind me and I turn my screen, making sure he can see the results of the project I’m working on.

“Grady Jackson.” He pitches his voice so that only Aanay and I can hear him. I nod without turning to face him. His hand comes down on my shoulder, pressing hard; the signet ring with the Gold International logo on it glitters in my periphery. “You’ve been a bad boy.” His voice is hoarfrost. Anyone else saying that would have done so with a smirk, Gold is simply stating a fact, like ‘The queen is a lizard person’.

My mind races. I’ve been a bad boy. There’s only one thing this could be: Gold has discovered that Ben and Lizzie are alive. Perhaps I hadn’t covered the money trail as well as I’d thought. Or maybe they’ve found one of my burner phones. Or was I recorded stealing the uniforms after all?

I lick my lips delicately. “I don’t know what you—”

“Shut it, Jackson.” He speaks mildly. I haven’t annoyed him; my denial is nothing more than he expects. “Be in the boardroom in five minutes. Any attempt to leave the building will be viewed … dimly.” He squeezes my shoulder in gentle warning.

I raise my eyes and see Aanay staring at me, his lips frozen in panic. Neither of us move or speak. Gold walks from my side of the desk to Aanay’s.

“You’re a Jain, is that right, Bukhari?”

Aanay nods, relieved to be asked such an easy question.

“So, you never lie.”

Aanay shakes his head so hard his fringe flaps like raven wings, as if trying to lift him out of his seat. Gold pulls a piece of paper from his pocket and consults it briefly. “You don’t lie, you won’t commit violence, you don’t care about material goods, you don’t steal –” he hesitates – “you live a ‘chaste life’. That’s what you told my father and our surveillance of you bears that out … so far.”

Aanay nods again, his cheeks are bloodless. Is he going to faint?

“You can join Jackson in the boardroom. It’ll be interesting to see how you react to his lies.”

Aanay sways.

“Breathe, Aanay,” I murmur. Gold is walking away. Aanay looks as if he’s going to bolt. “You can’t run, remember what he said. It’ll be viewed … dimly.”

“Oh, Grady!” Aanay exhales. “What have you done? … And what are you going to do?”

The boardroom is at the other end of the office. To reach it I will have to propel Aanay past Iris, Bella and the clones. I have less than five minutes.

“I need to go to the bathroom.” My voice is hoarser than I intend it to be.

Aanay just looks at me; I think he’s in shock.

“I’m coming back, Aanay.” I lower my voice. “Don’t go anywhere without me.”

He doesn’t react, just closes his eyes. I get to my feet and walk carefully towards the bathrooms. I can’t run, just going to the toilet, nothing to see here. I spot Dawson rising and put on a burst of speed. I don’t have time to speak to anyone. I have five minutes, maybe four now.

I skid past the lift and into the men’s room and realize that, despite my efforts, I have broken into a run. I slam the door and hurl myself into the nearest cubicle. I have about three minutes. My bladder burns. No time to pee.

As quietly as I can, I lift the back off the toilet. Ceramic scrapes noisily and I wince. For a moment my eyes blur and I’m sure that it’s gone, but then they clear and the bag wavers into view. It’s taped to the inside of the cistern – a white bag against white ceramic, under water. You’d have to know it was there to find it. I inhale shakily, reach in and pull the bag out. The burner phone is dry but taking forever to switch on. I stare at it, praying it hasn’t died on me.

Finally, the screen brightens.

I type in the number from memory. My fingers fumble against the keys. I enter the wrong digits, delete them and start again. My heartbeat counts down the seconds. They’ll come for me if I take too long.

There’s only one message I can send.

Get out

The phone is on silent, but I wait until the ‘message sent’ icon appears. One minute left. I delete the message, wipe my prints off the phone and toss it back in the bag without switching it off. I drop it back into the cistern and close it up. Then I flush the toilet and head to the sinks where I splash my face and glance up at the camera. Of course there’s surveillance in here, but I’m ninety per cent sure that no one is recording in the cubicles.

I have seconds left. I leave the toilet and head back towards my desk to pick up Aanay. There’s a security guard standing by the lift now. He wasn’t there before. He watches me go.

Chapter Four

Lizzie

I jump when my phone beeps with an incoming message. The noise is vulgar in the muffled quiet. For a moment surprise makes me stupid, but then I glance down.

Get out

I gape for a second and then leap to my feet. “Ben!”

He hears the urgency in my voice, but there is still a hesitation before he barrels into the bedroom. For an instant when I see him come in, I almost think it’s Will. Who’d have thought that some dye and a haircut would make Ben look so different? At least if I hardly recognize him, then Gold won’t either.

I hold the phone out to show him. Ben takes in the message and is at the wardrobe before I can take another step. He drags two holdalls from the bottom and yanks them open. He tosses the Gold International uniforms inside, followed by our stash of money, our fake IDs and the three remaining burner phones from behind the rotten skirting board.

I snap our laptop closed, wrap it in a jumper, snag the miniature cameras I was testing and shove them into the other bag. Then I run into the bathroom and sweep my contacts inside. Everything else we can leave. I run for the door, but Ben catches my arm. “Use the window.”

I turn round, pull up the sash and drop my bag carefully through the opening. There is a thud as it hits the ground and I wince, hoping the jumper has protected the laptop. I scramble on to the sill and look down. We’re on the first floor. It’s a drop, but nothing I can’t handle. I’m a climber; I’ve jumped from higher. I leap, and as I land, tuck and roll on to my shoulder and back to my feet in one smooth movement.

Ben’s holdall follows and he comes after it, gasping as his feet hit the ground.

“You forgot to roll!”

“It doesn’t matter.” He picks up his bag. “Go!”

We’re in a walled courtyard behind an alleyway. In front of us there’s a broken garden chair. An ashtray sits beside it, filled with cigarette butts swimming in half an inch of dirty rainwater.

I eye the wall. “What if they’re waiting for us?”

“We’ve got to assume they’ll go round the front. They won’t know we’re expecting them.”

“But if Grady—”

“We’ve no choice, Lizzie.” His tone is impatient. It’s not very … Ben-like. In fact, something in his voice reminds me of his brother. That’s been happening more often recently. Maybe with Will in the picture, Ben had no choice but to be the good guy. Now Will is gone, Ben is free. He can be who he wants to be. I supress a shiver. Is it possible that I hadn’t known Ben Harper as well as I’d thought?

He drags the chair to the wall and climbs on to it. He’s favouring his right leg.

“Your ankle is twisted.” I tug him off the chair. “It could be sprained. At least let me go first. I can run if I have to, you can’t.”

“OK, fine.” Ben shifts the holdall so he’s wearing it like a rucksack and watches me climb the wall.

The alley below is deserted. “I can’t see anyone. I’m going over.”

For a moment it looks as if he’s going to object, the over-protective idiot, but then he nods and I flip myself on to the other side, landing lightly on my toes.

He follows, landing with a wince, then he takes my hand.

I look anxiously towards the road. “Where do we go?”

“The library, at least for now. It should be empty and we can hide out till the next bus.”

I nod and we step on to the street. The pub will be getting busy with the lunchtime crowd soon, and there’s a primary school at the end of the road with a playground that will fill with kids, but other than that it’s quiet. It always is here. Apart from the occasional hiker, this isn’t a part of Wales that sees tourists, it’s just a dead end with mountains in the background and grey skies all year round.

I leave my hand in Ben’s as we stride jerkily towards the library. I want to run but running draws more attention, it makes people remember you. I keep my head down, letting my hair fall over my face, wishing I’d thought to throw on my hoodie.

Ben squeezes my fingers. “We’ll be OK. We knew this was a possibility.”

All I can think is that I might as well have called my dad.

I look at Ben. “What do you think Grady’s done?”

Chapter Five

Grady

Christopher Gold is already sitting at the head of the long boardroom table. I narrow my eyes. The five minutes I was given were so that he could get into position.

There’s a window behind the table. It’s big enough for a person to jump through … or be heaved out of. There’s a bottle of water and two heavy-based glasses in the centre of the table. There’s only one door – one way in and out. Gold is alone but I feel the cameras on me. I look up. There’s one in the centre of the ceiling by the light fitting and another in each corner of the room. Every angle covered.

Gold has a folder in front of him. He says nothing, only opens it, takes out two photographs and slides them across to us.

Aanay takes one look, staggers to the corner and begins to retch. I peer at the pictures. One is of Carmen. She’s lying on the floor in the control room of the island, where I killed her. She has been rolled to face the photographer and her shirt pushed up to show the bloody wound. I had stabbed her carefully, holding the blade flat and sliding it between the third and fourth ribs, into her liver. It was a quick death, a kindness.

I examine her face. Her eyes are open, staring blankly at the camera, and although her pink-tipped hair has been pushed back from her face, strands are stuck to her bloody lips. Her one remaining hand is curled slightly and covered in drying blood, her stump is thrown outwards, as if to catch the beam of light that slices the floor beside her.

I shift my eyes to the other photo. It’s Aanay. Only it isn’t. When I look closer, I see a girl who looks like Aanay, except older. She has been stabbed too, but nowhere near as compassionately as Carmen was. This is a messy wound, poorly placed. She must have taken ages to bleed out. Her blood surrounds her in a crimson inkblot of wings, with her body at the centre. Her eyes are closed, her face pinched with pain.

Aanay is crying now. His sobs reverberate through the boardroom. Gold curls his lip in mild disgust.

Using one finger, I slide the pictures back over the table. “Message received.”

“Is it?” Gold looks at the photo of Carmen, his head cocked to one side. “My father thought the message had already been effectively delivered. We own you. And yet…”

I glance at the water. “May I?”

Gold gestures and I pour myself half a glass. If I’m fast, I can smash it on the table and hold a shard to Gold’s jugular, walk us out of the building.

I take a careful sip, keeping my eyes on Gold. The security guard can’t be far. There’ll be a panic button under the table. I need to get Gold to move away from it. Perhaps I’ll ask for his help with Aanay, it looks as if he’ll need carrying out of here.

“You have nothing to say for yourself?” Gold’s eyes narrow.