The Promise

  The Promise

  A gripping thriller you won’t be able to put down

  Casey Kelleher

  Contents

  Prologue

  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

  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

  A letter from Casey

  Acknowledgments

  Also by Casey Kelleher

  The Taken

  For Margaret Cooper – Nan.

  Grief does not change you, it reveals you...

  and you are one of the strongest women I know

  x

  * * *

  In loving memory of Brian Cooper

  Rest In Peace Grandad xx

  Prologue

  Standing in the middle of the room, she began to sway.

  Her legs suddenly weakened as the room began to spin violently, twisting her around and around until she felt as if she could barely stand.

  She felt dizzy. Sick.

  How had this happened?

  How had she let this happen?

  Her body started to tremble as it threatened to give way and collapse on the bedroom floor.

  She was determined to stay upright, to stay focused.

  She had to, even though her heart was pounding wildly. It echoed inside her head. Whooshing. The noise deafening.

  The shouting stopped.

  Now, a blood-curdling, terrifying screech.

  Suddenly, she realised…

  It was her!

  She was screaming.

  Pouring out of her uncontrollably.

  It was as if she was outside her own body. Floating in mid-air.

  She could see the looks of shock and horror on their faces. The tears in their eyes.

  She looked down – saw what they could see…

  A jagged spray of deep red splattered across the front of her clothes.

  A flash of silver grasped tightly in her hand, knuckles white, fingers still gripping the weapon’s handle…

  A pool of dark liquid around her feet.

  Blood.

  So much blood.

  Chapter One

  ‘See, I told you that Gary would come up trumps for us, didn’t I!’

  Ashleen Jacobs smiled at Javine Turner as the two girls made their way up the main steps of Mayfair’s most exclusive nightclub – Liberties. Entering through the main doors, they pushed their way through the throng and made their way towards the bar.

  ‘Wow, this place is heaving tonight,’ Ashleen shouted above the shrill music that boomed out across the club as she ordered them both a glass of wine each. She was still beaming from the fact that she’d managed to get them in tonight, pleased that Gary, the doorman, had kept his word and put them both on the guest list. Of course, he’d only agreed to do it after he managed to blag himself a blow job for his efforts, though Ashleen decided to keep that little nugget of information to herself. She’d got them through the club doors and that was all that mattered. The five minutes of jaw ache had been worth every second judging by the grin adorning Javine Turner’s face. Now she just hoped the rest of her little plan paid off tonight too.

  ‘Yeah, it’s all right, isn’t it?’ Javine said, nodding her head approvingly, for a change, as she scanned the nightclub. The place was packed out. The atmosphere electric, buzzing. ‘Mayfair is the place to be. It feels a thousand miles away from the clubs in Brixton, that’s for sure.’

  Ashleen was right. It was heaving, and it certainly seemed to cater for a wealthy calibre of club goers; the only problem was: Javine couldn’t help but notice that it seemed to be mainly female bodies in here tonight. Wall to wall girls, all in little packs. Probably all here for the same reason she was. To bag themselves someone rich and famous.

  Up until Gary had lifted up the red ropes outside the club’s main doors and ushered the two girls inside as if they were VIPs, Javine had been convinced that Ashleen had just been spinning her another one of her many lines. Since moving into the girl’s tiny flat in Brixton a few weeks ago, Javine was learning fast that every other word out of Ashleen’s mouth seemed to be either an outright fib, or far-fetched exaggeration. Her new flatmate just couldn’t help herself. Either she was just eager to impress Javine, or the girl was a compulsive liar ‒ Javine had no idea which. Tonight, however, Ashleen had come up smelling of roses, so Javine had to give credit where credit was due.

  Though, looking around the place, it seemed Ashleen had been wrong about the club’s clientele.

  ‘Where are all the Premier League football players? There doesn’t seem to be much in the way of decent talent.’ Screwing her face up as she scanned the club in search of Ashleen’s promise that it would be swarming with mega-rich footballers and wealthy Eastern Europeans, Javine couldn’t help but feel more than a bit disappointed. She’d taken the girl on her word that they could scout for decent men here. Men with money. Real money. She’d been depending on it, in fact, having just spent her last two hundred pounds on having her hair and nails done especially for the occasion. She’d figured tonight would be a good investment, and she was counting on it paying off. Big time. Only, now they were here, apart from the doormen and bar staff, the only other men were a bunch of old blokes in suits with about as much money in their wallets as they had sex appeal.

  Seeing Javine’s sudden flicker of disappointment, Ashleen rolled her eyes.

  There really was no pleasing some people.

  ‘It’s still early, Javine, here get this down you.’ Handing Javine a glass of Chardonnay, Ashleen hoped her flatmate would lighten up a little.

  Liberties was one of the best clubs this side of the river: far more upmarket than the usual haunts that girls their age normally frequented. This place was exclusive, kitted out with purple leather booths, LED dance floor and one of London’s top DJs.

  Javine didn’t know it yet, but Ashleen had just the right guy lined up for her to get her newly manicured greedy little claws into; all they had to do was wait it out. In the meantime, Ashleen intended to make the most of their night out.

  ‘If you fancy a little starter before the main course arrives, we could always blag a few drinks off those guys?’ Ashleen said, pointing over to where three men were sitting in the main VIP booth. She was just as skint as Javine; the two glasses of wine she’d just bought had taken the last of her cash. Until later tonight, anyway. ‘They might not stretch to a bottle of Cristal, but I bet we could wangle a bottle of Dom at least.’

  ‘Who? Those three middle-aged suits?
’ Javine followed Ashleen’s gaze, wrinkling her nose at her friend’s suggestion. ‘We’re skint, babe, not desperate.’

  ‘I think you’ll find that they are one and the same, babe.’ Ashleen grinned as she and Javine watched a gaggle of bikini-clad waitresses strutting over to the VIP booth laden with jeroboams of champagne, and bottles of vodka lit with sparklers, as a crowd of girls all danced around in front of their booth. ‘If we don’t make a play for them, they ain’t going to be short on offers. Beggars can’t be choosers, huh? Besides, look how many bottles of booze they’ve just ordered. They’ve clearly got some money.’

  ‘Nah, they ain’t got real money.’ Javine shook her head, cringing as she watched the men jump up on the seats. Throwing themselves about as they danced without rhythm, they drunkenly passed the champagne around, each taking their turn to glug it straight from the bottle.

  They were lapping up all the interest from the hordes of scantily clad desperados gyrating in front of them.

  ‘How did you work that one out?’ Ashleen said, wondering what Javine could see that she was clearly missing.

  ‘They’re too flash. They’re trying too hard. Tonight’s just a novelty to them. Trust me, they haven’t got the kind of money that funds this lifestyle for longer than one night. I bet you anything you like that those blokes are going to wake up tomorrow crying into their economy box of cornflakes as they tot up how much money they pissed away while they were off their faces in here tonight,’ Javine said knowingly, pursing her lips. She might only be seventeen but if there were two things she was already an expert in, no thanks to her good-for-nothing ponce of a mother, it was how to read men and how to spot money. Real money. Her mother had been setting her up with so-called ‘sugar-daddies’ from the age of thirteen. Pimping her out to rich older men while she just sat on her old fat arse and counted up all the money that her beautiful daughter made for her.

  Javine had made that bitch a fortune over the years, until she’d copped onto herself that her mother was just using her for her own gain.

  That’s why Javine had run away from home in the end.

  Angry at her mother, she’d decided that if she was going to have men paw at her for money, then she was going to be the only one earning out of it. She was going to keep every penny that she worked her arse off for. Fuck giving it all to her greedy mother.

  These men were nothing more than a farce. They didn’t fool her for a second, though their little charade seemed to be working on some of the other girls that didn’t look like they knew any better.

  It was all just a game. Pretty girls and greedy men.

  Well, Javine was ready to up her game. She was done with teasing and tantalising men for a few quid and the promise of a designer handbag. She wanted the real deal. Someone who would set her up for a good few years to come. Someone who was willing to pay the premium that she knew she was worth.

  That was the only way she’d make it on her own.

  She was completely skint. The little money she’d received from the last bloke she’d managed to snare had all but run out now. The cash was all gone.

  Ashleen had been more than understanding about Javine being behind on her rent, but it had been almost three weeks, and Javine still hadn’t managed to land on her feet yet. That’s why Ashleen had offered to bring her here tonight, so that she could help her meet someone decent, with real money.

  Shaking her head as she continued to watch the gaggle of girls in front of her with fascination, Javine couldn’t help but laugh. These girls were complete amateurs. Dancing around the men provocatively as they all fought to outdo each other. They all looked so obvious, so needy.

  ‘Well, at least if someone half decent does walk in here it won’t be much of a contest,’ Javine sneered, eyeing up the clones of girls with their dodgy bleached hair and their fake-looking breast implants and matching fake overfilled trout pouts. It was like a freak show.

  ‘Well, you may be skint but you’re certainly not lacking in self-confidence are you!’ Ashleen muttered under her breath.

  Ignoring Ashleen’s comment, Javine flicked her long, jet-black hair over her shoulders before pulling out her compact mirror and eyeing her reflection approvingly.

  Ashleen was just jealous. Most girls were. Javine was used to it. She was well aware how stunning she was. Of the effect that she had on men. The desire that they felt towards her. Women, on the other hand, normally despised her. They say beauty is a curse and a blessing, to Javine it was just a blessing. She didn’t give two shits what people thought about her.

  According to her mother, Javine owed her exquisite looks to her biological father, whoever he was. The man wasn’t stupid either, it seemed; he’d upped and legged it just before Javine was born, clearly making his escape while he still could. His only contribution to her life had been the inheritance of his strong Iranian gene pool. Javine was blessed with the typical Persian features of her father’s birth country. A smooth, tanned complexion and large cat-like, chocolate-brown eyes. She had his height too, apparently; six foot tall without heels, and a neat, perfect size eight figure. It was just as well she’d got something out of the man before he’d abandoned her; if she’d only had her mother’s traits to fall back on, she’d be nothing more than a fat, plain Jane with a humongous arse.

  The only physical trait that Javine seemed to have inherited from her mother had been the woman’s huge bosoms, which only added to Javine’s appeal. Of course, Javine always dressed to accentuate her incredible figure by wearing tiny, skin-tight dresses that emphasised her large full breasts and impossible tiny waistline.

  Her conniving mother had been more about her brains than her looks. She’d used her own child; pimped Javine out the minute she’d started puberty. The woman was heartless.

  Still, at least it hadn’t all been in vain. Javine was tough. She was going to be just fine. She’d make sure of it.

  Looking down at her empty glass, she saw she needed another drink. Maybe Ashleen was right. If nothing else, these men could be the warm-up act at least.

  ‘You know what, you’re right. We may as well go and ponce a few drinks while we’re waiting for someone better to come along,’ Javine said, plonking her glass down on the table next to them.

  Ashleen smiled, about to follow. Turning to walk over to where the men were sitting, Ashleen stopped, gripping Javine’s arm.

  ‘Hold your horses, girlie,’ she said with a grin, nodding over. The two girls watched as the club’s management approached the booth. Behind them, two men were standing. Judging by their stern expressions they were clearly annoyed that these men were in their seats.

  Javine viewed with interest as the management team asked the group of suits to vacate the booth. Insisting that they move to one further away, they started to collect the bottles from the table as the two men behind them stared. Their presence in the club was gaining them everyone’s attention.

  While they looked seriously pissed off at being asked to move, the suits looked like they knew not to argue about the fact either. They moved without another word, as if they were too scared to even dare dispute it.

  That alone spiked Javine’s interest.

  ‘What was that all about? Who are they?’ she asked, confused, as she eyed the two men who had now taken up residence in the empty booth. They were older, probably in their mid-thirties, she guessed. The shorter man was white, stocky. He glared. Nothing special about him. It was the taller black guy that had caught Javine’s eye though. Dressed down, in trousers and a crisp white shirt teamed with an expensive-looking leather jacket, he looked sleek, understated. He had impeccable taste too, as, seconds later, he scanned the club and instantly locked eyes with her.

  ‘That, Javine Turner, is your golden ticket mate.’ Ashleen smiled, glad that her work here was almost done. Three weeks she’d been lumbered with Miss Hoity-Toity; the girl had been seriously doing her head in. Well, in a few minutes she would be off her hands for good. Of course, despite how much the
girl clearly rated herself, Javine Turner was too dumb to know any better.

  ‘That’s Delray Anderton. The bloke is minted. He owns an escort agency,’ Ashleen said, spinning the well-rehearsed line that she’d used a hundred times before on as many other brainless bimbos as she’d happened upon. ‘He’s bloody picky about who he takes on, though. The bloke makes an absolute fortune. If you want me to introduce you, I can, but there’s no guarantees that it will lead to anything.’ She could almost see the cogs turning inside Javine Turner’s tiny little brain.

  She had dangled the carrot, and Javine was ready to take a bite. Fuck, sometimes Ashleen just loved her job. She’d already sent Delray a few screenshots of Javine, and he was keen to meet her. Apparently Javine was just what he was looking for.

  ‘You wanna come and say hi?’ Ashleen said, knowing full well what the answer was going to be.

  ‘Er, yeah. You bet,’ Javine said, as she stuck her chest out and plastered the biggest smile on her face, keen to make a lasting first impression.

  Ashleen led her across to the booth where Delray was waiting for his next delivery.

  Javine Turner thought that she was up for playing ball with the big boys; well, now was her chance to put her money where her mouth was. The poor bitch was so taken with the idea of being introduced to a successful, wealthy man like Delray Anderton that she didn’t even realise how much this was all going to cost her.

  And it would cost her.

  Delray Anderton was a ruthless, nasty bastard and Javine Turner was about to be taught one of life’s most valuable lessons. The girl was about to do a deal with the devil himself.

  Nothing in this life came free. In fact, knowing Delray, Javine Turner was about to find out first-hand that some things could cost very dearly indeed.

  Chapter Two

  She squeezed her eyes shut tight, but it was no use. Georgie Parker couldn’t sleep.

  Not with her younger sister, Marnie, pressed up against her, jabbing her sharp elbows and knees into Georgie’s ribs as she wriggled about fretfully in her sleep.