Whiskey & Lace

Copyright © 2023 Whiskey & Lace by Imogen Wells The moral right of the author has been asserted. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Cover Design & Formatting by LJDesigns This eBook is ONLY available via Amazon. If you obtained a copy elsewhere, it is a pirated copy and illegal. CONTENTS Foreword 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 Epilogue Acknowledgments About the Author Also by Imogen Wells FOREWORD This book contains scenes and themes that some readers may find upsetting and/or offensive. Scenes of explicit sex, violence and profanity can be found in the pages that follow. The author is British, and British English spellings and phrases are used throughout. If there are any words or phrases that you are unsure of, please do not hesitate to contact me. [email protected] CHAPTER ONE AIDAN Calm. Keep calm. I passed calm about ten minutes ago when the stupid prick in front of me passed out. Admittedly, I may have contributed to that when I cut off his pinkie finger, but still, it’s entirely inconvenient. “Wake the fuck up, you lying piece of fucking shit!” I give his face a few gentle taps, then harder when he still doesn’t stir. I keep going, slap, slap, fucking slap. He groans, and I roll my eyes just as his snap open. The whites of his eyes grow along with his pupils, which dilate, extending the field of vision, not that it will help him because I’m coming at him from the front. I’m his entire focus. I want to see the fear in his eyes. I want to watch the bead of sweat drip from his forehead and trickle down his temple. I want to hear the murmurs, the pleas and screams of pain seconds before the light is extinguished. “I already t-t-told you…everything I know, man.” His voice stutters and shakes, catching in his throat despite him trying desperately to look unafraid. The pussy can’t even look me in the eyes. “I ain’t your man or anything other than the last thing you’ll see five minutes from now when I’m done listening to your bullshit. Now, last fucking chance, where is Bonner?” “I don’t know.” He glances between me and my men, and I take the opportunity to pull my gun from its holster over my shoulder and normally concealed under my suit jacket. As this idiot’s eyes snap back to me, his view is obstructed by the barrel of my gun pointing right at him. “Come the fuck on! I told you I don’t fuc—” The rest of his words are halted by the echoing boom of a gunshot. His head is flung back by the force as the bullet hits him between the eyes, dead centre, and instead of the trickle of sweat, there’s a sweet bright red bead of blood trailing down his forehead. “Clean this shit up and find me someone else to fucking torture. Someone that has some fucking answers,” I bark before handing my gun off to be cleaned, then spinning on my heels and heading for the door. I scrub a hand down my face as I reach the top of the stairs, forgetting that it’s tainted with blood from the now dead arsehole downstairs. Grand, now I need a shower and another new suit. My footsteps thud through the house as I climb the stairs to my room, stripping out of my clothes as I go. After a quick and refreshing shower, I enter my room, stark naked, to my phone ringing. Carla has obviously been by as I notice my dirty clothes have been removed. Snatching my phone off the bedside table, I check the caller ID as the call rings off. I toss it back down on the bed not in the mood to talk to my father at the moment. More to the point, I’m not in the mood for a fucking lecture. God knows I love my da, but the man is driving me mental with his incessant badgering about finding a wife. A woman is the last thing I need right now. In the months since the Lawlers took control of London, I’ve spent most of my time clearing out Bonner’s leftovers. And yet funnily enough not one seems to know where the cunt is. I get dressed, snapping on my onyx black cufflinks, which match my dark mood, before slipping into my suit jacket. Giving my shoulders a shrug inside my jacket, I pat my hands down my front, making sure I have everything. With a final tug on my lapels and a last look in the mirror, I spin on my heels, grabbing my phone from the bed as I go. Conor is waiting for me downstairs and hands me my gun, which has been cleaned to within an inch of its life. Holstering it, Conor steps forward and opens the door for me. Climbing into my car, my mind wonders to tonight’s business. Owen Bryant is next on my problem list. He runs an old pub down in Whitechapel called The