Dhakhar Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  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 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  About the Author

  Also by Annabelle Rex

  DHAKHAR

  A Universal Protectorate Novel

  Annabelle Rex

  Copyright © 2020 Prospect and Raven Ltd

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, businesses, events or locales is purely coincidental.

  Reproduction in whole or part of this publication without express written consent is strictly prohibited.

  Chapter 1

  Charlie

  “Okay Charlie,” PC Withers says. “Now is your opportunity to give an account in your own words of the the events of today, leading up to your arrest.”

  As days went, this wasn’t shaping up to be one of my favourites.

  “No comment,” I say.

  A flicker of disappointment crosses PC Withers’ eyes.

  “This isn’t just our interview,” he says. “It’s your interview, too. It’s your chance to give your side of things, Charlie.”

  The stupid part is, he knows I’m saying nothing. He’s been policing the estate since he was a fresh faced newbie, back when me and my friends were still in school, wearing our ties really short and thinking the best way to spend an evening was in the park with a two litre bottle of cider and a couple of vapes to pass between us. Withers knows the rules as well as I do.

  “No comment.”

  Still, he persists.

  “Come on, Charlie,” he says. “Maybe there’s an explanation for why you’ve got a large amount of drugs on your person.”

  I can hear Jason’s voice in my ear, clear as if he was stood next to me.

  Babe, can you do me a huge favour? These games are Biggsy’s. Can you drop them round his house on your way to your nail appointment.

  He’d handed me a sealed parcel and I’d smiled and put it in my handbag and thought nothing more of it. Even when Withers stop-searched me, I didn’t think anything of it.

  So bloody stupid.

  “No comment,” I say, and the words taste like ash in my mouth.

  “Charlie, we don’t think the drugs are yours,” PC Withers says, giving me his best inviting look, as if to say: trust me, you can talk to me, I’ll believe you.

  He has one of those faces that doesn’t look like it’s capable of tricking you. Dopey and sincere. I’m not falling for it.

  “No comment.”

  Because of course the drugs aren’t mine. He knows that. He knew it before he ever stopped me on the street and asked to search my handbag.

  “Were you transporting the drugs for someone else?”

  “No comment.”

  And if Jason thinks a smile and a compliment is going to win me over after this…

  “Did Jason give you the drugs?”

  “No comment.”

  In fact, I should leave him. I should definitely, definitely leave him.

  “Did he ask you to give them to one of his mates?”

  “No comment.”

  I picture him coming to the police station to collect me - which he would never do, because if there’s one place Jason doesn’t want to be near, it’s the police station, but hey, this is a fantasy. He shows up, all handsome in his bad boy clothes, giving me that particular smile he knows makes my knees go weak. Only this time, I’ll just walk past him head held high. I picture his confusion, him chasing after me.

  Babe, what’s going on? Babe, why are you ignoring me?

  “Did he ask you to give them to someone you know?”

  “No comment.”

  When I tell him it’s over, he begs me to come back. Gets down on his knees.

  “Did he ask you to take them to an address?”

  “No comment.”

  No, even better. He cries. The thought of losing me makes Jason Howlett, chief bad boy of the estate, break down and cry.

  “Who did he ask you to deliver the package too, Charlie?”

  “No comment.

  I keep playing different fantasy scenarios in my head as I say ‘no comment’ until my throat hurts.

  “You aren’t going to leave him,” Nat says, rolling her eyes.

  “I am,” I say, sipping on the vodka and coke my sister has bought me. “He got me arrested. That’s a leaving offence.”

  “Okay, so you ditch him. Then what?” Nat says.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Look around, Charlie.” Nat gestures to the other people in the pub. “We’re not exactly surrounded by hotties here, are we?”

  She has a point. We’re in our local - a dark, sticky building full of people who’ve drunk here all their lives, and will continue to until their livers give out. Almost everyone in here is north of fifty, and most of them have probably been nursing pint after pint since the place opened at lunch time. There are a group of lads getting leery in one of the booth seats, but they look like they’re on just the wrong side of the legal drinking age. Not exactly boyfriend material.

  “Just because this place doesn’t have anything going on, doesn’t mean there aren’t other places. I could go into the city centre.”

  “With who?” Nat asks.

  Her questions stings. Three years ago, I’d have had a ready answer to that, but since entering our twenties, it’s like my friends have all been picked off, one by one. Married, knocked up, or, on rare occasions, left the estate altogether.

  “Tammy’s little one is three now,” I say. “She could leave her with a sitter and come dancing.”

  Nat shakes her head. “You go dancing with Tammy and Tammy will have five potential dates by the end of the night and you’ll have a hangover and nothing to show for it.”

  I’d be more angry about this assessment if I didn’t know it was true. Tammy snapped back into her pre-pregnancy clothes within a month of Mia being born, and she has one of those faces that’s the perfect canvas for glamorous, dramatic makeup. One look at her smoky eyes, defined cheekbones and perfect figure and no one would be interested in me.

  “Well, what do you suggest, Nat?” I say, frustration building inside me.

  “Hey, I know you’re pissed now,” Nat says, “but that will pass. Be annoyed with him for a couple of days. Watch him come running with a nice pair of shoes or a new handbag to show how sorry he is. Jason screwed up, but he loves you, he’s going to want to make it up to you.”

  If he loved me, he wouldn’t have used me like he did today, I think, but even as I think it, doubt creeps in to my mind.

  I look at my nails. I’d gone for a classy dark green, just a bit of glitter on the accent nail. Longer than I could manage to grow my own nails, but not talons. Just natural. Fake natural.

  Jason gave me the voucher for the nail bar after a row. He’d been out late, never wanting to stay in with me. Always going on about his ‘business’. Th
e argument followed the same pattern they always did - I got annoyed, he got annoyed, I cried and he stormed out. Except he hadn’t been storming out - he’d gone and bought me the nail voucher and came back all apologetic.

  I’m sorry, baby, things are tough right now. I’m under a lot of pressure. I need you on my side, baby. I need you to not make things any harder.

  “Cute colour,” Nat says, drawing me back to the present moment. “Mark hasn’t bought me acrylics for years.”

  She gives me a look like this means something other than that her husband became a tight-fisted shit literally the moment they got married. I don’t want to think about Mark, especially not now Nat’s all starry-eyed over him again. Absence makes the heart grow fonder and all that. He can’t hit her from his prison cell.

  But my mind goes back to that night, the night me and Jason started being something more than just kids who knew each other from the estate. The night Nat and Mark got married, my sister choosing to tie herself to a guy just like our father. Me in the hideous bridesmaid dress Nat had picked for me. Jason barely seventeen, not yet filled out, his shirt borrowed from a friend and about two sizes too big for him. Just a skinny kid, facing off against someone older, bigger. Jason putting his arm round my shoulder and steering me away. And I know if I close my eyes, I’ll be able to feel his warmth, his strength. How good it had felt.

  Affection blooms in my chest, a sweet ache. I fell in love with him a little that night. Whenever I’m angry with Jason, my mind always ends up back there, reminding me of the moment that is the very foundation of us. The moment he protected me and proved that he really wasn’t like the other guys.

  “Jason can be a sweetheart,” I say, which is not an adequate word, but I can’t say more than that. Can’t ever tell Nat about what happened that night.

  “Exactly,” Nat says. “And you love him, don’t you?”

  I do. It isn’t like the movies, head over heels madly in love. That doesn’t happen in real life. Princesses in enchanted kingdoms might fall that way for a guy they just met, but the rest of us are lucky if we find a guy who we find attractive and doesn’t do our head in all the time. Anything better than that is relationship goals.

  Me and Jason, we’re relationship goals.

  Most of the time.

  And am I really going to throw that away over one mistake?

  “You know,” I say. “Maybe things were just bad today. Jason said he was feeling the pressure at the moment.”

  The more I think about it, the more it starts to make sense. People under pressure make stupid decisions. Jason always keeps me out of his ‘work’ - he knows I don’t like it. He promised me last year he was going to get out of it, just as soon as he’d saved up enough. And I know that ‘enough’ has to be for our wedding. He’s always talked about getting married someday, and what else would he need to be saving money for?

  I exchange the fantasies about leaving him for a more familiar one. Jason taking me out to a nice restaurant. Wearing his best shirt, and fidgeting nervously with the collar. We eat our meal and I pretend that I don’t know something is up, even though it’s obvious from how jittery and anxious he is. And then, while we wait for our desserts, he reaches across the table and takes my hand.

  Babe, I know you don’t like me being involved in the Business. Well, I want you to know that today, I quit. I’m done with all that.

  I tear up, telling him it’s wonderful. Say we should get a glass of champagne to celebrate. And Jason smiles because I’ve played right into his hands. Of course, I know I’ve played right into his hands. Know what’s coming as he gestures the waiter over. Still, I manage to look surprised as I look in my glass and find…

  I’ve played this fantasy through before - all the way to the wedding, sometimes, on the long nights when Jason has to ‘work’. I’m not sure I can bring myself to kill it. To never live that moment in real life.

  No. Leaving him isn’t the answer. I can’t quit on the best thing in my life. I need to work harder to support him. Be more understanding, not start stupid arguments and make the pressure he’s under worse.

  I can do that for him.

  “Thanks, Nat,” I say.

  Nat shrugs. “Not doing my job as a sister if I don’t talk you out of doing something stupid.”

  We’re into our third round of vodka and cokes and a little bit tipsy with it when the door of the pub opens and Jason walks in, flanked by two of his cronies - both a foot taller than Jason and ten times uglier. I giggle at the thought. I definitely got the looker of the bunch.

  Since those early teenaged days, Jason has filled out. He’s wearing a t-shirt that hugs his large biceps and pecs, and shows off the sleeve he’s been having done on his right arm for the last six months. I wanted him to get my name tattooed somewhere in it, but Jason wouldn’t. Said it was tacky. Instead, he got a little crown worked into the design to represent me. I could see it now, proof of his love for me indelibly marked on his skin. My heart does a little dance in my chest, all the earlier anger forgotten.

  Any moment now he’ll spot me and his eyes will light up, a smile stretching across his face…

  He sees me and his eyes narrow, a deep furrow forming on his brow as he marches over.

  “You stupid cow,” he says, standing over me. “I gave you one instruction. Take the parcel to Biggsy before your nail appointment. Before. But no, you couldn’t even manage that, could you? And now the pigs have my stuff.”

  My heart stutters. I’ve spent the last however long working my way up to forgiving him. I never thought he’d be angry with me.

  I’m the one who got arrested, for God’s sake.

  “You should get lost and come back when you’re prepared to talk to me in a civilised way,” I say, trying to infuse my voice with the danger note.

  Trying not to let the sting of tears make my voice wobble.

  Jason, typical bloke, takes no notice.

  “Do you have any idea how much you’ve cost me today, Charlie? How much that package was worth?”

  I don’t. I have no idea. I’ve always kept out of it. Always. It wasn’t a big package. Could it really have been worth that much? A downpayment on a venue? Food for sixty guests? The fee for a DJ?

  “Jason,” I say, and my voice is a pathetic whimper. I hate myself a little bit for it. “You know I don’t want to be involved in any of that.”

  Jason gives a cold laugh. “You don’t want to be involved, but you sure are happy to spend the money I make on your silly nail appointments.”

  It was a gift, I want to cry. Don’t cheapen it. My bottom lip is starting to wobble, the burn in my eyes growing stronger. I won’t cry. Not in front of everyone here.

  It’s just stress, I tell myself, it’s just the pressure. I try to conjure the proposal fantasy, try to fuel my patience with it. I know he’ll go back to being my sweet, loving Jason. Know he’ll be sorry for this little display. Know he’ll come begging for my forgiveness when the anger passes and he realises what he’s done. I have to be the bigger person. I committed to being more understanding and I won’t fail at the first hurdle.

  “I know you’re angry right now,” I say, trying to give him my best understanding smile. “So we should probably have this conversation later. I’m going to go home. Perhaps we can talk in the morning?”

  I stand, but he grabs my arm before I can walk past him.

  “I’m not done talking to you, Charlie.”

  And despite my commitment to understanding and patience, something inside me snaps.

  “Funny,” I say, “because I’m done talking to you.”

  I flinch as soon as the words are out, my father’s voice ringing in my ears.

  You’ve gone and done it now. Always have to push me just one step too far.

  The urge to apologise bubbles up inside me. I should take my words back, before for forgiveness.

  But this is Jason, I remind myself, taking my father’s voice and stuffing it way back down in the back of m
y mind where it belongs. Jason’s not like him. Jason’s nothing like him.

  So I tug my arm away from him. He doesn’t fight me, though his eyes are cold as he watches me. Nat sips at her drink looking anywhere but at us. I turn and walk away, not exactly storming out, but making sure everyone in the pub hears the tone of my steps as I leave.

  It’s a fresh night, not quite cold yet. I tuck my jacket around myself and check for my phone automatically. Remember it’s in a police evidence bag and scowl. Home is a ten minute walk away, and I set off in that direction at a brisk pace.

  Only a few steps later, I hear Jason calling.

  “Charlie! Charlie, wait.”

  I should keep walking, I think. Ignore him. Be frosty.

  “Charlie, baby, I’m sorry.”

  They’re the magic words. I’m already thawing. I stop, pretend I’m still considering carrying on. Don’t turn round. He comes up behind me and puts his arms round my waist, kissing my cheek before burying his head in my shoulder.

  “I’m so sorry, baby,” he says, his breath a warm tickle across my neck. “I’m sorry you got arrested.”

  “You’re sorry now, not five minutes ago?” I say, because I have to play it a little bit cool. Can’t just forgive him straight away.

  “Baby, you know I’m feeling the pressure right now,” he says, turning me so I’m facing him. He gives me his best doe-eyed look and any ice left in me melts.

  “I know,” I say.

  “I’m this close to the edge all the time at the moment, and when you push me, sometimes I snap.” He runs a hand down my arm. “I shouldn’t have got mad at you, though, baby. I’m sorry. You know how important you are to me. What’s your name?”

  He’s grinning at me now, flexing his bicep so the little crown there bulges. I try to roll my eyes, but can’t stop myself smiling.

  “What’s your name?” he says, cajoling. “Come on, tell me your name.”

  “Princess,” I say.

  “That’s right,” Jason says, tweaking my nose. “My Princess. I love you, my Princess, even when you make me mad. Don’t ever forget that.”