The Choice

Kerry Barnes, born in 1964, grew up on a council estate in South-East London. Pushed by her parents to become a doctor, she entered the world of science and became a microbiologist. After studying law and pharmaceuticals, her career turned to medicine.

Having dyslexia didn’t deter her from her passion for writing. She began writing when her daughter was born thirty years ago. Once her children had grown up she moved to the Kent coast and now writes full time.

Praise for Kerry Barnes

‘A shocking, gripping read’

Dreda Say Mitchell

‘Sweeps along at a breakneck pace’

Anna Smith

‘Another cracker from Kerry Barnes. The Hunted is a rollercoaster ride!’

Jaime Raven

‘An absolute must-read from this talented author.’

Jacqui Rose

Also by Kerry Barnes

Deceit

The Hunted

The Rules

The Choice

KERRY BARNES

HQ

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2019

Copyright © Kerry Barnes 2019

Kerry Barnes asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

E-book Edition © July 2019 ISBN: 9780008314798

Version: 2019-06-20

Table of Contents

Cover

About the Author

Praise for Kerry Barnes

Also by Kerry Barnes

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Acknowledgements

Extract

Dear Reader …

About the Publisher

For Terrie Taylor

You were an inspiration and I only hope you knew that.

God bless.

Chapter 1

As soon as the huge metal door that sealed off the hidden room was slammed shut, Torvic felt the muscles in his shoulders tighten and his jaw clench. He still couldn’t feel his hands because the ropes were so tight that his circulation was cut off. As his bowels churned, he felt sick. He needed to shit but he had to stop himself. He was the Governor and could take on most things, but shitting himself and losing his dignity wasn’t one of them.

He looked at his granddaughter Tiffany and wondered if he should just have let her lead a normal life instead of pulling her into his world. He stared at her head. It was tilted back, with sweat covering her brow, along with a blue tint that lined her lips. His eyes watered as he recalled that horrific moment when Zara made him choose either Tiffany’s life or his son Alastair’s. He wondered if he ever managed to escape this hellhole, he would be able to forget the torment of making the choice. The smell of his son’s burning flesh still lingered inside the hangar and Tiffany’s semiconscious moans still rang in his ears. To him, his granddaughter was still a kid, but Zara Ezra hadn’t seen it that way.

He gritted his teeth when he thought of the hard-faced bitch. She had to be the sickest-minded woman he’d ever met. He should have admired her, and yet his anger towards her overruled his rational mind. She’d said she would stoop to depths lower than the Governor – he himself – would ever dream of, and, by Christ, she had meant it. He really thought he’d had her fooled. He’d been the man they were hunting down – the Governor – and there he’d been, right under their noses all the time, pretending to be a dear old friend of her father’s. He should have given her more credit. Yet, never in his wildest dreams would he have believed her to be as smart as her father. Izzy Ezra had been a genius. Not many could match his brains and power. But Torvic realized that his earlier assessment of Zara’s ability had been completely wrong. For while her father had been a good teacher, she’d been an exceptional student.

There was no question that Zara had listened to Izzy and listened well. Torvic felt every nerve in his body come alive with fury because Zara had played him for a fool. Pretending she was in over her head, she’d acted like a vulnerable woman, lost in confusion. Zara was good, he had to give her that. All the time she’d confided in him, letting him believe she had concerns regarding the Lanigans’ and the Regans’ loyalty, she’d been dangerously plotting his capture. He should have sussed her out; he should have realized that Zara wouldn’t suspect Mike Regan – the one man she loved – or his brother Eric for that matter. Torvic knew he’d been mugged off big time, and yet he had one last hope, which was that his new recruit was up to all she’d promised. However, he did have that nagging doubt as to whether she would be a match for Zara.

Tiffany was insensible, the terror over the last few hours having knocked the stuffing right out of her. Torvic wished he could just take away her fear. He looked at the shut door. ‘Hurry up, woman, for fuck’s sake,’ he said to himself. A sudden vision shot through his mind, and, for a moment, he had to breathe deeply to hold back the vomit that was about to protrude from his mouth. He wondered if he’d actually been blindsided by all his previous success. Had he really gone down the path that had made him believe he was invincible?

Alastair sure as hell thought he had, but, yet again, his eldest son had been a psychopath, and up until the point that the flesh-eating acid had been poured over his head, he’d shown absolutely no emotion.

He looked back at Tiffany. No wonder she was so traumatized, seeing such a horrific scene. Not even Stephen King could have dreamed that one up. He shuddered and then felt his bowels rumble again.

Just as he thought there was no hope and that the woman had bottled out, the sudden heavy rumbling, as the door began to slide open, made his heart pound. He stared at the opening, willing it to be her and not Zara. His prayers were answered. There, standing like Catwoman, dressed in black jeans, a black jumper, and with her black hair tied back, stood his dark angel. She looked sleek – like Zara – and even her stance was similar, but she was a little rougher around the edges.

The woman looked behind her and then quickly nipped inside. Torvic’s notion that maybe she was a match for Zara soon went out of the window when she nervously fumbled around in her oversized bag. Eventually, after digging around and pulling half of the contents out, she found what she was looking for – a knife. She quickly got to work cutting Torvic free.

As soon as his hands were in front of him, he ripped the tape from his mouth. ‘You took ya fucking time, didn’t ya?’

‘I had to be sure they were all out of sight. Don’t moan at me. I did what ya fucking wanted. Now, where’s the rest of me dosh?’ she demanded, as she began putting everything back into her bag, battling with a sudden gust of wind, which had blown some of her papers across the smoothly polished concrete floor.

Torvic was unravelling the rope from his feet. ‘For fuck’s sake, woman, cut her ties, will ya!’

Shaken by the bellowing from Torvic’s mouth, she scooped up the remainder of her belongings and rushed to cut his granddaughter free. By the time she’d hacked through the rope, Torvic was on his feet.

He aggressively took over. ‘Right. Take us to the car and I’ll get you your fucking money. Help me with her, will ya! The girl’s traumatized.’

‘Cor, you’ve changed ya tune. You were all sweet words and roses last week. Now, you’re like a bear with a sore head.’

Torvic was about to lay into her verbally but thought better of it. He didn’t need any two-bit brass running and squealing to the Regans. ‘Sorry, babe, it’s just been a tough night.’

‘You’re fucking lucky I actually managed to open this fucking door or whatever the hell it is. It was only the fact that Zara forgot to put the remote in her pocket and it was on the worktop, or you would’ve been locked up for good and probably dead in a few hours.’

Torvic glared. ‘Dear woman, they wouldn’t have killed me. They think I have something they want.’

‘Oh yeah, and what’s that then?’

‘A contact, a piece of information,’ replied Torvic, with a sickly grin and an evil look of spite in his hooded eyes.

She stared for a moment. Was she looking at a reincarnation of the Devil? A man in his sixties, Torvic was dark and devious, and the way in which he lifted up Tiffany demonstrated that he was as strong as an ox.

* * *

Shelley Marwood sat on the hard wooden chair, nervously biting her nails. It should never have been this way, grovelling for her father’s help. She wondered if the cold, uncomfortable chair was a deliberate ploy to make his clients tense or whether its purpose was to deter them from sitting there for hours and talking too much. Was he getting a kick out of this? she thought. Nevertheless, she had no choice – he was her only hope.

Colin Crawford, a man in his early seventies, still had an extreme air of authority about him. As a child, Shelley could never understand why people feared and respected him. Why they stuttered or shuffled nervously in his presence was beyond her. He was always so sweet, gentle, and kind to her – at least he had been at one time. But as he turned from gazing out at the urban landscape, she could tell from that grave look in his eyes what it felt like to fear him.

He clasped his perfectly manicured hands together in front of him. A thin smile formed, one that lifted his cold, grey eyes. ‘So you want my help?’

She nodded fast. ‘Yes. Please, Dad.’

He unclasped his hands, stood up, and walked back to the window and stared off into the myriad shapes of London.

She followed him with her eyes, holding her breath, and waiting for him just to tell her he would. The silence seemed to linger for so long, her palms were wet with sweat.

‘You have a fucking nerve, Shelley. But you have front asking me, I’ll give ya that. I like your balls.’

‘Dad—’

He spun around, sharply stopping her from continuing. ‘Don’t you “dad” me. Dad is a term of endearment. The proper word is father. However, even that doesn’t seem fitting, coming from your mouth.’

She swallowed hard and wanted to cry. He was a stranger at that moment. The man with the pearl-grey hair, chiselled cheekbones, and thin lips looked at her like she was a piece of shit. Longing for the expression he’d shown her in the past brought tears to her eyes.

‘Shelley, don’t put on the fake waterworks. It has the least effect on me.’

‘Dad, please, it was such a long time ago …’

Colin narrowed his eyes. ‘Yes, you are damn right there, and a lot has changed, like your dear mother dying without you showing your face, with not even a call. That poor woman died longing to hear your voice one more time. But you, ya selfish bitch, couldn’t even be fucking bothered. So why should I do anything to help you, eh?’

The venom in his voice raised her anger. ‘Because, Father, he’s your fucking grandson.’

No sooner had the words left her mouth than she wished she hadn’t said them. He was over to her in a flash. With one almighty flick of the back of his hand, she was knocked sideways. She clutched her mouth and felt her puffy lips sting.

With both knuckles now on his desk, his eyes bore into her. ‘Grandson!’ he yelled. ‘You have no idea what you fucking did to us. You let us bond with the boy, and then you did the unthinkable. Not only did your sweet mother lose you, she lost her grandson too, and now you expect me to help him when I don’t even know the boy.’ He threw his hands in the air. ‘Christ alive, you’re one selfish bitch. D’ya know that?’

‘Dad, doesn’t this show you just how desperate I am? I know what I did was wrong, and I’ve had to live with it for over twenty years. I’m sorry. You have to believe me. I am so sorry.’ She could force another tear, but he hated tears, never believing that they were real.

‘Oh yeah, that’s right. What you did was disgusting. Of all the fucking men on the planet, you shacked up with my enemy. Oh, and I bet he was having a right good flaming laugh. Well, Shelley, tell me this. Why ain’t your fucking husband coughing up the goods, eh? Why ain’t your darling Nicolas making arrangements? Past it now, is he? Washed up and dried out, is he?’

Shelley lowered her gaze in shame.

‘Well?’ he screamed.

‘He’s left me,’ she whispered contritely.

Colin stared in disbelief. His daughter – this good-looking woman – had married Nicolas Marwood, a much older man. In fact, he was nearly the same age as himself. At forty-three, Shelley could easily pass for thirty-three. Her auburn hair, cut in a pixie style, and her round hazel eyes were fashionably attractive, and she’d not let her figure go to waste either.

‘He’s left you? Why?’ he demanded.

She looked up, hoping to see some compassion on his face, but he just stared ominously at her with those cold, dark eyes.

‘He was sniffing around a younger woman, took me credit card, and then he threw me out with just enough money to rent a gaff.’

‘You’re his wife. You’re entitled to fucking half! Jesus, girl, you ain’t that thick, surely to God, are ya?’

‘No, Dad, I ain’t that thick. But our money wasn’t in any fucking bank accounts, was it? The house was in his brother’s name, the cars were in his name, and the cash was hidden in places that only he knew about, so that’s about the fucking strength of it.’

‘I fucking knew this would happen. You can’t even do up your shoelaces by yourself. For fuck’s sake, that bastard took you away from me, and now he’s left you hung out to dry and he’s still having the last laugh.’

She wanted to defend Nicolas, but then she thought if she agreed with her father, he would be more inclined to help her.

‘Yes, Dad, I reckon he is, but, as I said, I can’t do fuck all about it.’

‘Well, I can. Where’s his brother live? I’ll send him a visitor. I want that house in your name and—’

‘Dad, I don’t care about the money or the status. I just need you to help my son. And you’re the only one who can sort this situation out. Please!’

‘He got himself in this fucking mess. He’s a stinking druggie.’

‘No, I swear, he’s not anymore,’ she pleaded.

‘Well, he’s a bloody idiot, chucking shit down his neck. It only ends up one way – huge debts or being dead.’

‘I know, I know, but please help me. You have contacts, so you can help him.’ She watched his face, knowing the cogs were turning. She really wanted to be brave and suggest that it was probably his drugs that her son had been hooked on. She wasn’t blind and knew that her father had his hand in the drug underworld. But she kept what she knew about her father’s dealings to herself.

‘Ya know what? I never had your husband put in a concrete boulder and stuck at the bottom of the river because you were his wife. End of. But now, I have no reason to hold back. You give me everything you have on that man, and I’ll help your son.’

‘Your grandson, Dad. He’s your bleedin’ flesh and blood too.’

‘Don’t push it, Shelley. Now go, and then come back when you have enough information for me to annihilate that son of a bitch.’

As Shelley got up from her chair, she faltered, unsure whether to attempt a hug; yet, again, he turned his back on her and looked out of the window once more.

Closing the door behind her, Shelley allowed a satisfied grin to creep across her face. She thought the meeting could’ve gone a lot worse. However, she’d put on her best acting skills and exaggerated the truth just enough to suck him. It had clearly worked.

* * *

Zara pushed back the white cotton sheet and was about to swing her legs around to clamber from the bed, when a heavy hand stopped her.

‘No way is my future wife gonna slip outta the sheets without a kiss. We’ll start as we mean to go on.’

Zara allowed a smile to lift her cheeks. It felt surreal, waking up in Mike’s bed for the first time ever. The years of stubbornly playing with each other’s emotions had now come to this. She was the boss, and yet, in their relationship, he would call the shots. She rolled into his open arms and snuggled her nose into his neck. ‘You feel so good, Mikey.’

‘And don’t you forget it, my wife-to-be.’

‘Er … I don’t see a ring on this finger yet.’ She laughed, holding up her right hand.

For a moment, Mike’s heart felt heavy. She should have been holding up her left hand, but she couldn’t, as there wasn’t one.

‘Well, today, we are gonna do something about that. You and I, my angel, are gonna pick the biggest, fattest diamond you fancy and show the world ya mine.’

‘A bit controlling, wouldn’t you say?’

Mike shuffled so that he was face-to-face with Zara. He blinked as he took in her natural beauty. Her skin glowed with the freshness of the morning.

‘There is no man or woman alive that could control you, and you bloody well know it.’

She gently kissed his lips and then pulled away. ‘No, Mikey, there isn’t because outside of me and you, there’s my business, and that’s when I’m the boss. But inside this house and outside of work, I might just let you take control.’ She winked. ‘Er, well, every so often perhaps.’

‘What, like this?’ he replied, as he rolled on top of her and grabbed at her underwear, ripping her knickers away from her. She looked at the passion in his eyes and felt her heart race. She loved the way he was so animalistic in the bedroom, and yet she could be just the same. She snatched the back of his head and pulled him close, biting his bottom lip.

Disturbed by the phone ringing, Zara tried to pull away.

‘Leave it, babe.’

‘No, not today. We still have business to attend to.’

Mike rolled off and stared up at the ceiling. She was right. Torvic and his granddaughter, Tiffany, were still tied up in the secret room at the back of the hangar.

‘Hello, what’s up?’ asked Zara, as soon as she answered the call.

‘Fuck me, Zara, the hangar. Torvic and Tiffany have gone!’ said Neil, her business partner.

Mike could tell from the shock on Zara’s face that something was awry. He jumped up from the bed. ‘What the hell’s going on?’

Instantly, Zara sat upright. She put the phone on loudspeaker so that Mike could hear. ‘You what? How can that be? The fucking room was locked. No one apart from us knows how to open it, and I have the … Oh shit, wait. Did I bring the remote with me? Hold on!’ She turned to Mike. ‘Where’s my jacket?’

He bent down and picked up the padded jacket that had been thrown on the floor before they’d ripped each other’s clothes off in the early hours.

She snatched it from him and searched the pockets. To her horror, they were empty. ‘Oh no! Damn it, I must’ve fucking left the remote there!’

Mike shook his head and expelled air heavily from his mouth. ‘Fuck me!’

For a moment, Zara looked at Mike and considered whether he viewed her as an idiot, because, right now, she saw herself as exactly that. After all they’d achieved last night, she’d blown it completely by leaving behind the bloody remote device that opened up the back room.

Seriously agitated, Mike was running his hands through his hair and pacing the floor. ‘It’s all my fucking fault!’

Zara was puzzled and gave an exaggerated frown. ‘How do you work that one out?’

His face dropped in shame. ‘’Cos if I hadn’t distracted you so much before we left, you would’ve remembered the remote. Bloody hell, we were tired, you were tired. I should’ve let you finish up before I decided to propose and get all fucking soppy.’ He sighed heavily.

‘Mike, have a bloody day off, will ya? It wasn’t your fault. You’re right. It was a hell of a long night and shit happens. Now we need to get ourselves together.’

There was silence as all three, including Neil, who was still on the phone, tried to take it in.

‘Neil, give me a minute. I’ll call ya back. I need to get my head around this.’

She placed the phone back on the bedside table and turned to face Mike, who was now jumping into his jeans.

‘What the fuck d’ya think’s happened?’

Mike was white-faced and angry. ‘I dunno, but we all need to meet up. I’ll call the lads. If that bastard is on the loose, then whoever set him free has more clout than us. Fuck me, we don’t even know who we’re dealing with.’

Zara wrapped her silk robe around her naked body. She would have drooled over Mike in just his jeans and with his huge muscular chest on show, but not this morning. The fear of Torvic taking revenge shot through her like shards of glass. Her stomach churned when she thought of what she’d made Torvic do to his own son. The acid had burned the man’s skin from his bones. Jesus, she thought, what if he planned to do the same to anyone in her firm? Would she ever be able to forgive herself?

Mike was now frantically trying to find his phone. His main concern was for Ricky, his son, who’d been recovering in hospital following Torvic’s son’s brutal attack on him. Ricky was supposed to be discharged at lunchtime.

Mike was sweating profusely. He couldn’t let anything happen to Ricky – not now, when he had just been reunited. He’d lost contact with his son from the age of six, until meeting him unexpectedly in Maidstone Prison only months before their final release.

In all that time apart, both Ricky and his father believed each other to be dead, so now they had an unbreakable bond, and Mike was buggered if he was going to let Torvic get his hands on him now.

‘Ring my phone, Zara. I can’t fucking find the poxy thing.’

With her body shaking, she dialled his number; Mike pulled his phone from his back pocket.

Zara rolled her eyes. ‘Babe, we need to calm down and think this through.’

Mike didn’t answer her; he was calling the hospital. After a few minutes, he yelled, ‘Aw, for Christ’s sake, why don’t they bloody pick up?’