Read Online Mason: A Manchester Bad Boys Romance by Lena Foxworth - Free Book Online
Authors: Lena Foxworth
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made a sale there since I started trading thirty years ago. But it’s where Chopper is legally employed, forty hours a week. He pays his tax, his stamp, and nobody is any the wiser. I could do the same for you… if you wanted it.”
I knew Terry better than this. He didn’t offer out pretend jobs to every guy that collected betting money for him. There would be a cost attached. But on the other hand, it was a pretty tempting deal. If I could keep working for Terry, I’d still be earning decent money, and I’d have more for Damon. More money, more time. He was due to start school, and he could have all the things the other kids had. Playstations and trainers and all the shit that kids needed to feel part of the gang.
“That sounds good, Terry. I want it. But you can’t just hand it to me on a plate like that. Let me do something for you - a favour - to show my gratitude.”
I knew how to play the game. If I had asked Terry outright what he wanted, he’d have taken offence. The offer would be off the table, and my arse out of the door, as well.
“You’re a good lad, son. I wish they were all like you,” he said, clapping a beefy hand on my shoulder.
“There is something you can do for me, as a matter of fact.”
“Sure, whatever you need.”
“Donal Callaghan - the biker prick. I’m tired of playing games. I want him out.”
“Out?”
“Use one of those shooters I gave you. They won’t be traced. I’ll give you a time and a place soon enough.”
Shit.
This was a big ask, and Terry knew it. There was a long way between roughing up a bent bookie and killing a rival gang leader. He read the expression on my face.
“You have a think about it, let me know if you want the car sales job. If you don’t - no hard feelings. But you need to decide, son - in or out? You can’t keep sitting on the fence without getting splinters in your arse.”
He was right, of course. Not just about the gang, about everything. I had to decide who I was. A killer or a wage slave.
In or out…
Nicole
I moved slowly through the park, walking at a deliberately casual pace, keeping well behind my target. Just a woman out for a stroll, nothing to see here. Nothing to draw the eye or attract attention - I was completely forgettable.
These were the skills I’d learned as part of my undercover training, the ability to blend in and become part of the scenery, the unseen observer. And I was using them to follow my ex-boyfriend around a park.
It was sad. It was pathetic. It was risky. I knew that, all of that, and yet I couldn’t stop. Yesterday I’d watched him go the shops with Damon. He’d bought him something from the toy shop - I couldn’t tell what - and Damon had carried the bag home himself, swelling visibly with pride at his new possession.
Today, I knew what the present had been - a remote controlled helicopter. They were flying it together, Mason teaching Damon how to use the controls to make the cheery red machine flit back and forth across the sky. At one point, the wind changed and I could hear a snatch of conversation - Mason telling Damon not to fly it over the pond in case it fell in.
It was bittersweet, watching them. They were having a great time, and that was lovely to watch. Especially seeing Damon’s face light up with joy, not at the gift, but at the way Mason was interested in spending time with him. It was obvious that the lonely little boy was thriving, and I knew I had done the right thing by removing myself from the situation.
But god, it still hurt. To be this close and not be able to touch. Every day, every time I followed Mason, my wounds ripped open again. I would go home and cry, and promise myself that it was over, that I wouldn’t ‘check up on him’ again. But like a moth to the flame that burns, I would come back, watching again. I could feel tears welling up - again - and I rummaged in my bag for a tissue. Looking down, I didn’t see the cheery red helicopter until
I knew Terry better than this. He didn’t offer out pretend jobs to every guy that collected betting money for him. There would be a cost attached. But on the other hand, it was a pretty tempting deal. If I could keep working for Terry, I’d still be earning decent money, and I’d have more for Damon. More money, more time. He was due to start school, and he could have all the things the other kids had. Playstations and trainers and all the shit that kids needed to feel part of the gang.
“That sounds good, Terry. I want it. But you can’t just hand it to me on a plate like that. Let me do something for you - a favour - to show my gratitude.”
I knew how to play the game. If I had asked Terry outright what he wanted, he’d have taken offence. The offer would be off the table, and my arse out of the door, as well.
“You’re a good lad, son. I wish they were all like you,” he said, clapping a beefy hand on my shoulder.
“There is something you can do for me, as a matter of fact.”
“Sure, whatever you need.”
“Donal Callaghan - the biker prick. I’m tired of playing games. I want him out.”
“Out?”
“Use one of those shooters I gave you. They won’t be traced. I’ll give you a time and a place soon enough.”
Shit.
This was a big ask, and Terry knew it. There was a long way between roughing up a bent bookie and killing a rival gang leader. He read the expression on my face.
“You have a think about it, let me know if you want the car sales job. If you don’t - no hard feelings. But you need to decide, son - in or out? You can’t keep sitting on the fence without getting splinters in your arse.”
He was right, of course. Not just about the gang, about everything. I had to decide who I was. A killer or a wage slave.
In or out…
Nicole
I moved slowly through the park, walking at a deliberately casual pace, keeping well behind my target. Just a woman out for a stroll, nothing to see here. Nothing to draw the eye or attract attention - I was completely forgettable.
These were the skills I’d learned as part of my undercover training, the ability to blend in and become part of the scenery, the unseen observer. And I was using them to follow my ex-boyfriend around a park.
It was sad. It was pathetic. It was risky. I knew that, all of that, and yet I couldn’t stop. Yesterday I’d watched him go the shops with Damon. He’d bought him something from the toy shop - I couldn’t tell what - and Damon had carried the bag home himself, swelling visibly with pride at his new possession.
Today, I knew what the present had been - a remote controlled helicopter. They were flying it together, Mason teaching Damon how to use the controls to make the cheery red machine flit back and forth across the sky. At one point, the wind changed and I could hear a snatch of conversation - Mason telling Damon not to fly it over the pond in case it fell in.
It was bittersweet, watching them. They were having a great time, and that was lovely to watch. Especially seeing Damon’s face light up with joy, not at the gift, but at the way Mason was interested in spending time with him. It was obvious that the lonely little boy was thriving, and I knew I had done the right thing by removing myself from the situation.
But god, it still hurt. To be this close and not be able to touch. Every day, every time I followed Mason, my wounds ripped open again. I would go home and cry, and promise myself that it was over, that I wouldn’t ‘check up on him’ again. But like a moth to the flame that burns, I would come back, watching again. I could feel tears welling up - again - and I rummaged in my bag for a tissue. Looking down, I didn’t see the cheery red helicopter until
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