The Price
203 pages
English

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203 pages
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Description

'If you like Martina Cole and Kimberley Chambers then you will like Kerry Kaya!' ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐
Break the rules…

Harry Fletcher – Fletch to his friends – has spent his life surviving the tough streets of the East End. He knows working for notorious gangster Billy King is dangerous, and sleeping with Billy’s beautiful wife, Susan is deadly…but rules are meant to be broken.

Pay the price.
If Billy discovers the affair, Fletch is a dead man. But the closer he gets to Susan the more reckless Fletch becomes. And soon, Fletch realises that every one must pay the price for their actions....even him.

Perfect for fans of Caz Finlay, Gemma Rogers and Emma Tallon.

What readers are saying about The Price:
'If you like Martina Cole and Kimberley Chambers then you will like Kerry Kaya!'

'A fantastic story from start to finish. Enthralling, exciting and a brilliant read'

'Kept me absolutely hooked throughout!'

'Could not put it down from start to finish.'

'A super fast paced and easy flowing gangland tale focusing on family and hidden secrets.'


Sujets

Informations

Publié par
Date de parution 13 juillet 2021
Nombre de lectures 0
EAN13 9781801629065
Langue English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0100€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

The Price


Kerry Kaya
For Paul
Contents



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

Epilogue


Acknowledgments

More from Kerry Kaya

About the Author

About Boldwood Books
1

‘Just do it.’ Fourteen-year-old Harry Fletcher stuck his chin in the air. ‘C’mon, just do it,’ he urged his younger brother.
With his eyes downcast, twelve-year-old Spencer shook his head.
From the corner of his eye, Fletch, as Harry was more commonly known, watched as their uncle began to unbuckle his worn leather belt, and he stuck his chin out even farther, his eyes silently warning his brother to do as he said. ‘Stop being a baby and just punch me,’ he hissed. He was a handsome lad with a shock of dark brown hair that tended to stand up on end like a brush, and across his nose was a splattering of freckles.
When Spencer made no attempt to move, Fletch pulled back his clenched fist and punched his brother square on the jaw. The younger boy dropped to the linoleum floor with a heavy thud.
Frank Smith threw his head back and roared with laughter. One of his favourite pastimes was making his two nephews, actually step nephews, fight for his pleasure. ‘I’ll make a man of you yet.’ His tone became serious, and he began pulling the belt through the loopholes of his denim jeans.
Spencer’s bottom lip trembled. He knew what was to come; it was a daily occurrence in their house. He curled himself into a foetal position and placed his hands protectively over his head, whimpering.
‘Don’t do that.’ Fletch stepped in front of his brother and reached out his arm, in an attempt to stop his uncle. ‘I’ve already belted him one, ain’t I?’
Frank glanced up at the clock on the kitchen wall and noted that he was missing out on valuable drinking time. ‘Yeah,’ he grunted. He was a large man, rough around the edges, who made his living ducking and diving. He had a reputation for being a bully.
Frank fished around in his pockets and pulled out a handful of loose change. Stuffing the coins back into his denim pocket, he strode across the kitchen to where his stepsister kept the housekeeping tin, and took out a handful of notes.
The fact that he had just taken the rent money and last few measly quid that was expected to feed his family for the week meant nothing to him, and why should it? After all, they weren’t even his kids. As long as he was all right, then sod everyone else – that was his motto. With the money clenched in his fist, he gave his two nephews one last menacing look, and then slammed out of the house.
‘You should have just hit me,’ Fletch scolded, as he stretched out his hand and heaved his brother up from the floor.
‘I didn’t want to.’ Spencer spoke in a slow drawl, his voice trembling.
‘You need to toughen up a bit,. You know what he’s like when he’s had a drink,’ he said. ‘One of these days, you’ll end up getting the belt, and next time, I might not be able to stop him.’ He inspected the angry red mark his fist had left across his younger brother’s jaw. ‘You’ll live.’ He grinned. ‘Are you hungry?’
At this, Spencer nodded.
Set on the kitchen counter was a wooden bread board, and amongst the scattered crumbs, the knobby end of an uncut bloomer loaf had been left. They hadn’t had any breakfast yet and Fletch could feel his tummy begin to rumble. He tore the bread in half and passed a chunk across to his brother. ‘Come on.’ Stuffing a piece of hard crust into his mouth, he chewed on it, then swallowed. ‘Let’s get out of here, in case he comes back,’ he said, slinging his arm around his younger brother’s shoulders. ‘We’ll go and knock for Stevie.’



‘See, I told you. Look.’ Stevie Williams pointed his finger towards a ground-level broken window that had been covered over with a piece of thick cardboard.
They were around the back of the local shopping precinct at the Heathway, in Dagenham. The shop in question that had caught Stevie’s attention was the off-licence.
‘If we get in there, we could pinch some booze and fags.’
Fletch nodded. The goods would sell for a fair few quid and Fletch knew their mum would be desperate for the money. As it was, she worked two cleaning jobs, whilst her stepbrother lazed around the house, day in and day out, waiting for the pub to open.
‘We’re in,’ he said. He didn’t bother to ask for his younger brother’s opinion. He knew for a fact that Spencer would copy whatever he did; he always did.
Checking that the coast was clear, as quietly and as carefully as he could, Fletch pulled away the piece of cardboard and peered through the gaping hole.
‘What can you see?’ Stevie asked, crouching down beside him.
Fletch turned his head to the side and gave a wide grin. ‘Boxes and boxes full of booze.’ He straightened up and turned to look at Spencer. ‘You’re the smallest. Wriggle through the gap, Spence, and pass a couple of bottles out.’
Spencer did as he was told. He laid down on his tummy, wriggled his feet and legs through the tiny gap, and, holding on to his brother’s and Stevie’s hands, he lowered himself down.
The cellar was damp, dark and musty, not that Spencer appeared to notice. ‘Which ones?’ he asked, peering into the darkness.
‘Get those ones.’ Crouching down in front of the window, Fletch pointed his finger towards the nearest box. ‘And be quiet… don’t make any bloody noise,’ he whispered.
One by one, Spencer passed the bottles through the open window.
‘Whisky.’ Stevie’s eyes were as wide as saucers. ‘We’ll get loads of dosh for this lot.’ He grinned.
‘And if we keep schtum about it,’ Fletch answered, ‘we can come back for more another day.’
Careful not to make any noise, they heaved Spencer back through the window, and set about replacing the cardboard cover.
‘This is our secret,’ Fletch warned. ‘We don’t breathe a word about this, to anyone, right?’ He looked at his brother, and then to his best friend. They both nodded in agreement.
They collected up two bottles each, and with their haul safely concealed under their jackets, they made their way back around to the front of the shopping arcade.
‘Get a load of that car.’ Stevie whistled through his teeth. ‘Gotta have some dosh to own a car like that.’
Fletch was thoughtful. He looked across to the car in question. It was a silver-coloured Jaguar, and without missing a beat, he strode towards it.
‘What are you doing?’ As he chased after his friend, Stevie turned his head from side to side, his eyes darting nervously around him. ‘You’re gonna get us caught. If someone calls the cops, my mum will go apeshit and I’ll end up being grounded, for life, probably,’ he groaned.
Fletch came to an abrupt halt. ‘We need to sell this stuff, don’t we?’
His eyes wide, Stevie nodded.
‘Well then?’ Fletch continued marching ahead of his brother and best friend and, reaching the car, he tapped his knuckles on the driver’s window.



Billy King was a man to be reckoned with. With thick, dark hair and piercing blue eyes, he was undisputedly a player amongst the criminal fraternity. Protection racketeering was his game, a game in which he thrived, and only a fool would refuse or try to worm his way out of paying him what was owed. After all, he wasn’t known as Billy ‘One Punch’ King for nothing.
He was sitting inside his car, waiting for one of his henchmen, when he spotted the three boys. He watched them walk towards him and he allowed himself to smile. His car was his pride and joy, and he knew for a fact that many a man and boy gave it a second glance. The Jag screamed power and wealth.
‘Nice car, mister.’
Billy wound down the driver’s window. ‘Gets me about.’ He grinned.
The boy looked around him, then opened up his jacket. ‘Do you wanna buy some booze?’
Narrowing his eyes, Billy looked to the boy then to the whisky bottles. ‘Where did you get those from?’
‘We pinched them from the offie, back there.’ It was the smallest boy who answered.
Snapping his head towards his brother, Fletch gave him a sharp dig in the ribs. ‘Shut up,’ he hissed. ‘You’re not supposed to tell anyone where we got them from.’
Billy laughed out loud. They reminded him of himself when he’d been a young lad. ‘What are your names?’
‘I’m Harry, but me mates all call me Fletch, cos me surname’s Fletcher, see. This is my little brother, Spencer, Spence,’ he corrected. ‘And this is my best mate, Stevie.’
Billy looked, sizing them up. He had an upcoming job planned out and neede

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