Justice for the Damned by Ben Cheetham Read Free Book Online Page B

with burst blood vessels and tormented uncertainty, as he gathered up his bag and stood to leave. He closed the door without a backward glance. The bolts grated into place.
    Melinda’s gaze dropped to the sandwich. For a long moment she stared at it as though expecting it to disappear in a puff of smoke. Then, clutching it to her chest like a prize, she did what she’d promised herself she wouldn’t do again – she began to sob loudly and uncontrollably.
    The deep-set little eyes that were pressed to the other side of the slit in the door grew heavy-lidded with satisfaction.

7
    As Reece drove back to Burton Road, he fought down rising anger. He wasn’t angry at Wayne for not coughing up his dues – that merely pissed him off a bit. It was the thought of Wayne beating Staci, or for that matter, any other woman. In his book there was nothing lower, nothing more despicable, than a man who liked to use his fists on a woman. Wayne badly needed teaching a lesson that would make him think twice about hurting the girls who worked for him. And Reece couldn’t think of any better man for the job than himself. But as with every lesson, there would be a time and a place for it, and now wasn’t that time. Right now all he needed to focus on was keeping Doug happy. That was how he would get into the real money, the money that would give Staci and Amelia the chance to start a new life. A life with him.
    His thoughts turned to Staci’s theory about Melinda’s disappearance. Was it possible she was right? It wasn’t hard for him to believe there was some kind of psychopath prowling the streets for prostitutes to abduct. Prostitutes were the perfect victims. The majority of them were runaways and drug addicts, leading transient existences. If they disappeared, it was often months or even years before they were reported missing, by which time the investigative trail was stone cold. What he found harder to swallow was the idea that there was a killer at large in the area who’d been getting away with it for years, maybe even decades. Surely even the most cautious killer couldn’t go unnoticed over such a long period of time.
    Reece’s line of thought was disrupted by the sight of Wayne Carson. The pimp was slouched in the same spot as earlier, puffing on a cigarette. Reece pulled over, took an extendable steel baton from the glove compartment and got out of the car. Spotting him, Wayne flicked away his cigarette and shoved his hand inside his jacket.
    With a jerk of his wrist, Reece extended the baton. ‘Get your fucking hand where I can see it or I’ll break it off.’
    Wayne drew his hand back into view, fingers spread to show that it was empty. ‘I was just gonna get what I owe you, that’s all.’
    Reece stopped a pace from Wayne, the baton raised, ready to split his nose open like an overripe tomato. Go on , said Reece’s eyes, just give me a fucking excuse. ‘So get it. Slowly.’
    The pimp delved into his jacket again and removed a wad of crumpled cash. Reece snatched it away from him. Just the feel of the banknotes in his hand told him there weren’t nearly enough of them. He eyeballed the money, then Wayne. ‘Where the fuck’s the rest of it?’
    Wayne hawked and spat a jet of phlegm through his teeth close to Reece’s shoes, glaring at him defiantly. ‘That’s all you’re getting. After the way you’ve fucked me over, you’re lucky to be getting anything.’
    ‘What do you mean, the way I’ve fucked you over?’
    ‘Staci’s one of my top earners and you’re trying to steal her from me.’
    ‘How can I steal her from you? You don’t own her. No one does.’
    ‘Fuck you. You know what I mean. If it wasn’t for you, there’s no way she’d have got it together enough to even think about leaving me.’
    Reece stepped closer to the pimp, lowering his head so that their brows were almost touching. His voice came heavy with the threat of violence. ‘You mean she’d still be pumping her veins full of