Rival

Copyright

Published by AVON

A Division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2020

Copyright © Jacqui Rose 2020

Cover design Claire Ward © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2020

Cover photographs © Ofer XI/Getty Images (woman); Shutterstock.com (background)

Jacqui Rose asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of 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 ebook 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.

Source ISBN: 9780008366988

Ebook Edition © August 2020 ISBN: 9780008366971

Version: 2020-07-14

Dedication

To Jack Wimbleton

Epigraph

A common danger unites even the bitterest enemies.

Aristotle

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Epigraph

Three Months Ago

Chapter 1: Today

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

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Acknowledgements

Keep Reading …

About the Author

Also by Jacqui Rose

About the Publisher

THREE MONTHS AGO

‘Alfie? Alfie? Pick up the phone. For God’s sake, I know you’re there. I don’t know how many messages I’ve left, but we need to talk. Even if you’re still angry with me at least call me back … Please.’ Franny Doyle sighed as she cut off the call.

Despairing, she threw the phone on the white leather couch and took a large sip from the glass of Chardonnay she’d poured herself earlier. It was the same every time she tried to get through to Alfie. He’d just send it straight to voicemail … He was ghosting her, big time.

Walking across to the window of the front room of her large Georgian house in Soho Square, she looked out across the gardens, noticing the flickering of the street light.

It was late, gone midnight, and she could just make out a few passers-by as they hurried along the street through the rain and the cold. About to take another sip of her wine, Franny paused, the crystal wine glass resting on her lips. She was sure she’d just heard a noise coming from the hallway.

For a moment she stood still, wondering if it was just the sound of the wind hitting the gutter outside, which she’d neglected to get fixed. But no, there it was again.

Placing her glass on the hand-carved, black mantelpiece, Franny quietly walked towards the drawing room door as her heart began to race. She stopped at her silver bookshelf and as quickly and as carefully as she could, she slid her hand behind the row of the various first-edition hardbacks, pulling out a small handgun.

She could feel her heart racing faster as she gripped the gun and paused, listening once again before placing her hand on the solid brass door handle. She slowly began to open it, but the door was suddenly kicked open, sending Franny and the gun flying across the wooden floor.

Without bothering to look to see who it was, Franny scrambled desperately to reach the gun, but too late. She felt an agony in her hand as her fingers were crushed by the weight of someone’s foot. The next moment she heard a gruff, gravelled voice.

‘Hello, Franny; long time, no see. I’ve been meaning to come and visit you for a while, but you know how it goes, life gets busy. But hey, I’m here now.’

Face down, Franny let out a groan as the pain from the skin being torn open on her fingers rushed through her.

‘What’s that? Oh I’m sorry, Franny, am I standing on your hand? What a clumsy cunt I am. Is this better?’ The foot stamped down even harder, and this time, Franny let out an agonising yelp as her blood squirted across the floor.

‘You bastard!’

With a chuckle her hand was suddenly released and the next moment, Franny was staring a familiar face straight in the eye as he knelt down and glared at her. ‘That hand looks nasty; you need to make sure you put something on that. You don’t want to get it infected, do you?’

Sitting up and putting her hand underneath her armpit to try to stop the flow of blood, Franny gritted her teeth as she spoke. Her voice dripped with contempt. ‘Hello, Harry, if you’d wanted an invite, you should’ve just told me – you didn’t need to go to all this trouble. Cup of tea?’

Incensed by Franny’s attitude, he grabbed hold of her face, squeezing as hard as he could. ‘Listen to me, you silly bitch, you’re walking a very dangerous line and if I were you, I wouldn’t cross it.’

‘What do you want, Harry?’ Franny spat out.

‘I understand that you’ve still got a hit out for Vaughn Sadler, and you’re still looking for payback.’

‘That’s between him and me.’

‘Oh no, but it ain’t.’

Not wanting to show how much pain she was in to Harry, Franny took a deep breath before she spoke. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘I know that both you and Wan Huang have been wanting to have your day with Vaughn, but I’ve had a little talk with Wan. Made a deal. So, that’s why I’m here. Wanted to tell you in person.’

Franny stared at Harry, knowing that she wouldn’t like what she was about to hear. Though Harry was right, Wan Huang, the new head of the Triads – a notorious South East Asian gang – also wanted to put Vaughn Sadler in the ground, albeit for an entirely different reason than Franny, though it came down to the same thing: revenge. ‘My business with Vaughn is just that. My business.’

‘As I say, I’ve made a deal with Wan. He’s willing to let bygones be bygones, which means you’re going to do the same; you back away from Vaughn. So any ideas you’ve got to take him out, well they’re over now. Because now, he’s got me in his corner. So, if I hear – if I even get a fucking whiff – that you’re still planning to go after him, then, sweetheart, I’ll be coming after you. And when I find you, I’ll cut off those pretty fingers of yours one at a time, and after that, I’ll bury you a-fucking-live. You understand me?’ He got up and brushed down his expensive camel coat and smiled. ‘Anyway, best dash, Franny, so if it’s all the same to you, I’ll leave that cup of tea. Maybe another time …’

TODAY

1

With the agonising sound of her own scream Tia Jacobs startled both herself and the disdainful-looking clerk of the court, who earlier in the morning had already shown his contempt for her as he’d stared at the short blue dress and black high heels she wore.

Not that it mattered now what he thought because that had been before. Before the judge had passed his verdict. The plain-looking man in the tired black robe with his pinched nose and overly dyed black hair, who had no idea what her favourite film was or why looking at the sea on an overcast day made her cry, had passed a judgement that would change her life forever.

Bent over, Tia wrapped her arms around her waist as if somehow it would stop the wailing sound that seemed to be resonating from every pore in her body. The only sight she could see through the pane of tears, which felt as if they were burning her face, was that of the out-of-focus passing shoes of the reserved British public, who, even when presented with a bent-over howling woman in the corridors of justice, still pretended all was well.

Suddenly, a pair of brown Gucci loafers brought Tia’s eyes and mind into focus; though it could, she thought, be just as likely that the overpowering and over-applied after-shave that attacked all her senses had cleared her mind.

But there was no need to gaze upwards. Tia knew exactly who’d be standing in those shoes, the sneering smugness fashioned on his face, which always made her recoil in an attempt at self-protection from the toxic words that always followed.

‘Stand the fuck up, Tia. You’re making a show of yourself. You’re a disgrace. I ain’t surprised the judge said what he did. One look at you, he knows exactly what you are. You’ve got a fucking screw loose, you know that?’

Standing up to look at her husband, Tia wiped her nose on the back of her sleeve. ‘You’re loving this, Harry, ain’t you? You got what you want. You won.’

Harry Jacobs stared at his wife and shook his head. The only emotion he felt at that moment was one of annoyance at the spectacle Tia was making of herself. If he stood in front of her any longer there was a strong possibility she’d snivel all over his favourite shoes.

Grabbing her arm tight enough for her to let out a little squeal, Harry snarled at his wife. ‘I was always going to win. I told you what would happen if you took me on, didn’t I? I told that you were wasting your time, but no, you had to be a silly cunt and go ahead and try it anyway. You’re my wife, Tia. Till death us do part, remember? But if you don’t want to honour that, well, you have to pay the consequences, sweetheart.’

This last statement was like a bucket of ice-cold water being thrown over Tia. She shook off his grip and glared at her husband, looking directly into the blue eyes that at one time she’d found so mesmerising.

He hadn’t aged that much over the years. At forty-four there was no middle age spread, no receding hairline, no lines around his eyes; he was as good-looking as he always had been, with the energy and body of a twenty-year-old man. He had it all: the looks, the money, the gift of the gab and the respect from all the other faces around Soho.

He had everything, everything except for a heart and she hated him for it, especially as it felt to Tia like he’d taken her heart away too.

She’d been brought up in a care home before being kicked out at the tender age of sixteen, having to turn tricks to make ends meet. And then out of what seemed like nowhere, she’d fallen head over heels in love and, stupidly, she’d thought she’d found her happy ever after.

But it hadn’t worked out and although it hadn’t been her choice to end the relationship, she’d consequently found herself back on the streets again. So when Harry had swept in, she’d thought all her troubles were behind her. Who had she been kidding – her troubles had only just started. At the time she’d wanted a roof over her head more than anything. She’d been vulnerable and she’d needed to be loved. And she supposed by then she certainly hadn’t been picky.

Harry had promised her the world and of course she’d leapt at the chance even though all the flags had been there. Right from the start he’d been jealous, controlling and had been handy with his fists, but being with Harry was better than being on the streets like some of her other friends who’d left the care home at the same time.

Though it hadn’t all been bad, especially at the beginning, and partly that had been the problem. Maybe it would’ve been easier to leave if at the beginning he’d been an out-and-out bastard, instead of saving it all for later.

They’d had laughs and they’d had times when they’d genuinely seemed to like each other and he’d bought her no end of presents and cars, but as the years rolled by the control, the jealousy, along with his cruelty, had become part of the fabric of her life.

Though if she were honest, those things alone wouldn’t have made her go to the extremes she had. She would’ve stuck it out as she had done for all these years, put up with it all, told herself she was better off than some. But then there’d been the final straw. The final betrayal had come just over six months ago, and even now she didn’t like to think about it, but it was that and that alone which made her pick up and leave.

‘Oh, believe me, Harry, I’ve been paying the consequences for long enough now, don’t you think?’

Hissing at Tia through his teeth, Harry grabbed hold of her arm again, pulling her down the corridor. ‘Ain’t you had enough of all the self-pity, Tia? You’ve stamped your feet enough now and wasted everybody’s time. You’re lucky I’m so understanding – most fellas I know would bury you in the nearest shallow grave and most men in my business wouldn’t even let you step into a court, let alone try to say the crap you did. But I let you, Tia. I let you get it all out of your system, so don’t give me the hard-done-by shit.’

Fighting back tears, Tia, not saying anything, shook her head as Harry barged into a couple coming the other way. Giving them a warning glare not to say anything, he continued to march Tia towards the exit as he spoke. ‘What the fuck did you think you were doing, that’s what I want to know? Leaving me and your home, then doing this shit. Why did you do it?’

Spinning around to look at him, she could hardly get the words out. ‘You know why I did it, you know why I left, and me going to court is because I wanted my kids.’

Leaning down to her, Harry whispered nastily in Tia’s ear. ‘Our kids, Tia. Don’t forget that. They’re our three kids. The way you talk, anyone would think I’m just some fucking sap paying for you, rather than your husband.’

With her hands shaking, Tia pulled out a cigarette from her denim jacket, finding it difficult to recall the judge’s exact comments; her head was spinning too much.

Her solicitors, for all the good they’d been, had told her she’d stood a chance, but in the end the judge had only listened to Harry’s lies and his expensive barrister, painting her to be someone she didn’t even recognise. Painting her to be an unfit mother.

‘Mrs Jacobs, after taking into account all the statements and hearing from both yourself and Mr Jacobs as well as understanding more about your background and financial set-up, I feel it’s in the children’s best interest to stay with their father. I award him full and sole custody with you having weekly visitation rights.’

Blowing out a mouthful of smoke, Tia spoke slowly and softly in the hope she wouldn’t lose control and start screaming again, because the next time she was afraid she’d never be able to stop. The pain in her voice clearly evident, she asked, ‘What am I going to do, Harry? What am I going to do without the kids?’

Wrapping his expensive Fendi scarf around his neck, Harry glanced at his wife; she was truly stunning, even with her swollen eyes and red nose from all the snivelling she had insisted on doing, her beauty still shone through. Her skin was pale, her face held the darkest yet softest brown eyes, and her lips were full and red, which made the most faithful of men imagine what she could do with them.

To look at her, you’d never think she’d had three children. Her figure was tight and curvaceous, not to mention her fabulous, enormous breasts, but for all this beauty, he thought she was a fool. A fool to waste everyone’s time and think that she could ever get custody of his kids and a fool to go up against him.

Though he’d stood back and let her do what she’d needed to do. And it’d actually amused him that she really thought she’d win. He’d let her think that she was getting somewhere, let her think that the solicitor she’d hired had been on her side, though the fact was her solicitor had been in his pocket, feeding him information, and as a result, he’d always been one step ahead of Tia.

Then when it’d come down to it, he’d made sure that his barrister had destroyed her. She hadn’t stood a chance. Not one shred of a chance.

So as predicted, here she was in front of him, crying like her life was over, asking him what she should do.

She needed him and always would and even if she didn’t, there was no way she was going anywhere.

Feeling the chill of the wind, he laughed as he put his powerful muscular arm around her shoulders, pulling her towards him as he led her down the stone stairs to the car park.

‘Look, Tia, I think I’ve always been pretty fair to you. I’ve just about managed to put up with all the crap you’ve thrown my way, though God knows a lesser man wouldn’t, including all that crazy shit at the beginning of the year. I’ve always been there for you—’

Interrupting, Tia snapped, ‘That’s crap, Harry – what you did, I hate you for it, so don’t try to pretend you were there for me. We both know the truth.’

‘There you go again, Tia, always pointing the finger at somebody else instead of taking a long hard look at yourself in the mirror. Isn’t losing the kids enough for you for one day?’

Without thinking, Tia swung her hand in the direction of Harry’s smug smile but he grabbed it and roared with laughter. ‘I love it when you get angry; it gives me a real hard on. What do you say to giving me a quick blow job?’

The tears that had been threatening to escape again cascaded down her cheeks like a sudden cloud burst. ‘I’m just a game to you, ain’t I? Just leave me alone, Harry. You heard what the judge said, you’ve got what you wanted.’

Softening his face but hardening his eyes, Harry came to a standstill in front of a blacked-out Range Rover. Unlovingly he kissed her on the cheek. ‘If you want the kids, Tia, you can have them. After all you’re their mum.’

Tia stared up at Harry. ‘What?’

‘You heard me, you can have them.’

With her heart beginning to race, Tia blinked away the last of her tears. ‘Don’t play with me, Harry. Don’t say that if you don’t mean it … They’re everything to me, you know that.’

He smiled, lighting up his handsome face. ‘I know, darlin’, that’s why I’m saying it. I just wanted to teach you a lesson, show you you went about it all the wrong way.’

Shaking, Tia nodded. ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I just didn’t know what else to do.’

Harry smiled, opening the Range Rover door. ‘Good, well I’m glad we got that sorted out … Come on, get in.’

As quickly as Tia’s smile had appeared, it went. ‘What? What are you talking about?’

‘Home. Let’s go home.’

‘But …’

Harry sniffed, his blue eyes narrowing. ‘You want the kids don’t you?’

‘Yes, but …’

He smiled at her, showing off his perfect teeth. ‘We all come as one big happy family, Tia, you should know that by now. You want the kids, then you come home.’

Tia stood and watched her husband get in the passenger seat of the car. Her head was telling her to turn around and walk the other way, but her heart – the part that counted – was moving her feet in the same direction as her husband. This was another chance, a chance to be with her children once again and her love for them was greater than anything.

She’d tried to battle her husband and it’d taken everything out of her in doing so. Now she supposed it was time to concede; Harry Jacobs had won … For now anyway, because as she’d thought so many times in the past, he’d left her no choice; one day, she was going to pay him back. Oh yes, Harry would get his comeuppance all right even if she had to kill him herself. For now though, she’d play the game. If being a player was good enough for Harry, it was good enough for her.

And with the tears streaming down her face, Tia, having made up her mind, slid slowly into the back passenger seat but immediately froze as she stared at the driver whilst Harry spoke. ‘Ain’t you going to say hello, Tia? You know Vaughn, don’t you?’

With a tight smile, Tia nodded as she stared out of the window. She knew Vaughn Sadler all right, the problem was, she knew him too well.

2

‘Franny! Franny! We need your help! Quick, please, you’ve got to come!’

Putting down her phone on the side, Franny Doyle looked up at Sasha – who was no older than eighteen – standing shaking in the doorway, her face pale and drawn.

Shocked at how upset Sasha was, Franny spoke, concern in her voice. ‘What’s happened, darlin’?’

The girl shrugged, wiping the tears from her face. ‘I dunno really but Sophie’s ill. She’s vomiting. She was snorting some lines and then she just started convulsing.’

Without saying anything else, Franny nodded and jumped up, hurrying out of the office on the top floor of Foxy’s nightclub in Greek Street. She followed Sasha – who was one of the club’s newest recruits having only started working there seven months ago – down the stairs.

Getting to the lounge, Franny stopped and stared in horror, muttering more to herself than Sasha. ‘Jesus Christ.’ Then she rushed across the large, sparsely furnished whitewashed room to where Sophie was lying naked on the floor.

Straight away, Franny could see Sophie was fitting and her eyes were rolling to the back of her head, a combination of vomit and spit foaming out of her mouth.

Kneeling down, Franny gently lifted Sophie’s head onto her lap. ‘It’s okay, honey. It’s okay. I’m here. We’ll get you some help, darlin’.’ She turned to Sasha and barked out her order. ‘Phone an ambulance … Now!’

Still trembling and clearly in shock, Sasha nodded before disappearing out of the room. Turning her attention back to Sophie, whose breathing was becoming more and more staggered as her body violently convulsed, Franny moved her to the recovery position.