“But I can help,” she insisted.

“You can’t. You never have. All you’ve ever wanted from me was money. When I look at you, all I see is him, so leave. Leave before I have security come and physically remove you.” The last part of what he said was dark, seething, and the woman’s face grew frightened.

“Okay, I’m going. Just remember, I’m here if you ever need someone. I’m here, Oliver. All you have to do is come find me.”

And with that, she went. I wiped the tears from my face. “Who was that?”

“Nobody.”

“King.”

“I said it was nobody,” he shouted, and I stilled. Deathly quiet filled the room until his phone started to ring. I thought he was going to ignore it, but then he saw his mum’s name on the screen. He picked it up and held it to his ear. The room was quiet and the volume was loud, so even though I was a foot away, I could hear the voice on the other end, and that voice didn’t belong to King’s mother. It was a deep, scratchy, seedy London accent, and my chest seized as I guessed who it belonged to.

King’s entire form turned to stone as he listened.

“’Ello, son,” said Bruce, layers of cruel satisfaction lacing his voice.

“What are you doing with my mother’s phone?” King demanded, a tremor in his words.

“Thought you could fuck me over, you little shit. Me and your mum are just having some quality time now. You know, reminiscing. I was hoping you could come and join us.”

A feminine cry rang out, and then an audible slap. Bruce’s voice moved away from the phone. “Stop crying, or I’ll give you something to cry about. You knew what he was doing, didn’t you, you stupid bitch. The both of you tried to fuck me. Well, now you’re gonna learn that no one fucks with me and gets away with it.”

“If you harm her,” King began, voice low and angry, but he couldn’t seem to hide his emotion. His sheer panic was evident, and I knew Bruce was enjoying it. “If you touch a single hair on her head, I will kill you. You think you’ve won, but you haven’t. I have nothing left to lose now, Bruce. Nothing.”

Cruel laughter sounded from the phone, and in a split second, King smashed it into the wall, the screen cracking to pieces. He grabbed his coat and fled the office. I ran after him, begging him to wait, but he wouldn’t listen. I followed him to the back exit of the building where no journalists were waiting, and before I knew it, we were in a taxi headed for Elaine’s house. I tried to hold King’s hand, but he wouldn’t let me touch him.

The air between us felt cold and I scrambled to try to think of something that would calm him down. Stop him from doing anything stupid. The journey was too short, and before I knew it, King was throwing money at the driver and running to his mum’s. The front door, which I knew King had new locks put on after Bruce’s last break-in, had definitely been meddled with. The door was closed, but the lock was bent out of shape. King pushed it open, and we both hurried inside. A tall, broad-shouldered man stood waiting in the hallway. He folded his arms over his chest and shot King a confident smirk.

He was obviously muscle for Bruce. He also appeared to think he could easily take King. That’s why it surprised us both when King walked right up and elbowed him hard in the side of the face. I heard bone crack, and the man stumbled into a wall with a pained grunt. Then King brought his foot down on the guy’s shin. The brute let out a strangled cry, but both of us were already gone, rushing to find Elaine.

The house was silent, which somehow felt more frightening than if she were crying out in terror like we’d heard her on the phone. We entered the kitchen to find an older man standing by the sink, casually using a dishcloth to wipe the blood from his hands. He looked to be in his seventies, his hair almost completely gone. His face was lined with deep wrinkles, and there was a scar that ran just above his right eyebrow. He looked fit for his age, his build stocky, the only sign of weakness a little bit of pudge around his middle.

His eyes came to King, and his gaze narrowed. He wasn’t laughing anymore. There was a coldness about him that chilled my bones.

“You’re too late,” was all he said. Dead voice. Dead eyes. Black heart. I knew all this within seconds of looking at him.

King was still, so still, and he wasn’t looking at his father. It confused me at first, but then I followed his gaze to the floor. Time ceased to exist. There on the expensive stone tiles lay Elaine. She wore her favourite peach pyjamas – her favourite peach pyjamas, which were drenched in blood. She wasn’t moving, wasn’t breathing, but I refused to accept she was dead. She looked so…small.

No.

No.

No.

I didn’t even realise I was shaking my head until King dove for his father, his hands going around the older man’s throat. I couldn’t hear over the sound of my heart thundering in my ears. Couldn’t move. So I stood there, frozen in shock, as King started to beat his father to a pulp. Bruce lay in a couple of punches, but he was old, and his strength was no match for King’s. I was about to scream when I saw him pull a gun, but King was quicker, knocking it from his father’s hand and sending it sliding across the floor. He drove a final punch into Bruce’s skull, and the man fell limply to the tiles. The heavy thud was an awful sound, and I thought I heard bone crack once more. A deep, all-encompassing shudder ran through my body. King’s chest rose and fell rapidly as he stared down at his father’s lifeless form.