No Rules Apply

A RAMAZ DONADZE THRILLER NO RULES APPLY * AJ LIDDLE Copyright © 2023 AJ Liddle ISBN-13: 978-1-8381911-6-0 This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organisations, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental. TABLE OF CONTENTS ◊ ALSO BY AJ LIDDLE PROLOGUE ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE SIX SEVEN EIGHT NINE TEN ELEVEN TWELVE THIRTEEN FOURTEEN FIFTEEN SIXTEEN SEVENTEEN EIGHTEEN NINETEEN TWENTY TWENTY-ONE TWENTY-TWO TWENTY-THREE TWENTY-FOUR TWENTY-FIVE TWENTY-SIX TWENTY-SEVEN TWENTY-EIGHT TWENTY-NINE THIRTY THIRTY-ONE THIRTY-TWO ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS ABOUT THE AUTHOR AUTHOR’S NOTE PRAISE FOR NO RULES APPLY ALSO BY AJ LIDDLE ◊ THE RAMAZ DONADZE THRILLERS No Harm Done No Way Back No Rules Apply For Karis and Lex, the best girl and the best boy in the world. Yes, I will laugh despite my tears, I'll sing out songs amidst my misfortunes; I'll have hope despite all odds, I will live! Away, you sorrowful thoughts! — Contra Spem Spero! Lesia Ukrainka PROLOGUE ◊ ‘I’M HUNGRY, DEDA,’ ZAAL complained as he dumped his school bag inside the apartment door. Sophia used her foot to push the door shut behind them, knelt in front of her son and pulled him to her by his jacket lapels. ‘You’re always hungry,’ she said, smiling into his beautiful face. ‘Where’s my hug?’ The boy frowned in contrived exasperation then leapt into her arms. She held him tight for the few seconds he allowed her then stood, straining under his weight. Six, she thought, he won’t be my baby much longer. ‘Let’s get you something to eat,’ she said, carrying him, legs swinging, towards the kitchen. ‘A biscuit!’ ‘No, not a biscuit, an… apple!’ ‘No—a biscuit!’ he squealed, playing their familiar game. ‘How about… a nice juicy carrot?’ ‘A biscuit. I want a biscuit!’ ‘Ah, I know. A potato, a big, beautiful, delicious—’ ‘Deda…’ the boy said, squeezing her neck, alarmed. She turned. The man was big, dressed in blue jeans, a black leather jacket and black industrial boots. A silk balaclava covered his head and face, the slit for his eyes pasting a few strands of ginger hair onto his forehead. He was wearing latex gloves, a pistol held casually by his side. ‘Gamarjoba, Sophia. Don’t worry. I’m not going to hurt you,’ he said in accented Georgian. ‘Deda,’ Zaal whimpered again, his face buried in her shoulder. She stepped back, keeping her son shielded from the intruder. ‘My husband will be home soon. What do you want?’ she said in a tight voice. ‘Koba will be a while yet.’ His eyes crinkled, the balaclava hiding his smile. ‘But don’t worry, everything will be fine, you’ll see.’ ‘You know his name…’ ‘I know everything about you and your family, Sophia.’ ‘There’s money, my jewellery, cards, take what you want.’ She shook her head and mouthed, Please don’t hurt us. ‘Let’s go in there,’ the man said, using his gun to gesture towards the lounge door. ‘No,’ she said, her heart pounding. He pointed the gun for the first time. ‘In the lounge, Sophia. Please.’ She took a step towards the door then stopped. The man’s eyes crinkled again and he stepped back. ‘After you,’ he said. The room had been prepared. The blinds over the balcony door and windows were closed and a chair was placed against the radiator with handcuffs attached to its pipework. ‘Sit there and put these cuffs on,’ the man said. ‘I can’t, who’ll look after Zaal…’ The boy was sobbing now, his tears soaking through the thin fabric of her blouse. ‘Put the cuffs on—he can sit with you. Don’t worry, he’ll be fine.’ ‘You keep saying that,’ Sophia spat. ‘Just take what you want and go.’ ‘Please do as I say.’ ‘It’s okay, Zaal,’ Sophia whispered into the boy’s ear as she carried him to the chair and sat. The man nodded his encouragement. ‘I’ll do whatever you want,’ she told him. ‘Please don’t make me put these on.’ ‘Sorry, but you have to.’ Sophia held his gaze for a moment then, with one arm around her son, she reached down to attach the free end of the handcuffs to her wrist. A helpless tear welled in her eye and she told herself, No, stop that, stop it now! ‘Why are you here?’ she demanded. The man placed his gun on the worktop and took photographs of her and the boy with his phone. He showed her one then tapped and swiped the phone to send it somewhere. ‘Sorry, it’s not the most flattering,’ he said. Zaal had stopped crying and was shivering with fear, his face turned into her breast, his snot staining her blouse. ‘Why are you doing this to him? He’s just a boy!’ she said, her own fear turning to anger. She heard the man sigh through the balaclava’s silk. ‘Keep your son with you, I’ll get him that biscuit.’ He tucked the gun into his waistband. ‘Keep him with you,’ he repeated and left the lounge. Sophia measured the distance to the open lounge door and estimated how long it would take Zaal to get out of the apartment—too long. She hugged him with her free arm and whispered assurance and love into his ear while silently beseeching God to keep them both safe. The man returned with a plate and a glass of milk. He crossed to the chair, bent to place the snack at her feet then straightened and ran his hand down the back of the boy’s head with his gloved hand. ‘Keep your hands off him,’ Sophia snapped, turning her son away from the intruder as best she could. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘Can I get you anything? Water, something to eat?’ ‘No, I don’t want anything from you!’ ‘Okay, I understand…’ He pulled a chair from the kitchen table, placed it near her and the boy and sat. His eyes smiled again. ‘I won’t be here