Page 4 of Red Retaliation
All I’ve done for years - my whole life - is sit silently in my gilded cage, quietly plotting an impossible escape. One with no chance of metamorphosing into anything other than a pipe dream. Until now.
Feeling the tube train slow, my panic resurfaces. Is this the correct stop?
Shit, it is, so what do I do?
I’ve never been on a tube train because we’ve always had chauffeurs. In other people’s eyes I live like a princess, but I’d rather have had nothing if it meant not putting up with what happened. Or what I’m about to do now.
I move nearer to the door, my hands scrambling for another pole. I don’t know what I’m doing and only got this far by watching others on here.
With screeching and a beep, the doors fly open, and my unwilling legs propel me onto the platform. Hot air blasts into my face and pushes my hair into my eyes as the tube rumbles away. I’m swept up into the crowdlurching towards the exit.
Keeping my eyes averted and head down like everyone else, I continue. I have a rough idea of where I’m heading, but that’s about it.
What happens if these people won’t help me? Has that crossed my mind?
It matters little because it’s all I’ve got.
And that isn’t comforting.
CHAPTER
3
Red
MY LIP CURLS WITH irritation as my brother guides his latest conquest’s hand onto his crotch. I say his “latest conquest”, but Liam and Oscar don’t have “conquests”. They never bother with a woman more than once because there’s plenty of choice. Most of the birds around here fancy their chances of getting their feet under the table with one of our family, and I don’t expect it matters much which one of us it is. A Bateman is a Bateman - a name well known this side of the river.
All over London, in fact.
And rightly so.
We’ve worked hard for our place in this city.Veryhard.
But our father had the hardest job. Establishing a firm back in the 60s was no mean feat.
My jaw tenses. As time passes, I can sometimes think of my parents without rage and resentment hitting boiling point. But that rage and resentment will never disappear completely.
How can it?
I take a swig from my crystal tumbler and savor the burn of the spirit. Only the best glasses for the Batemans. Only the best whiskey too. Not that our enemies see it that way. They believe swigging from cans of supermarket-own lager is more up our street.
I drag the back of my hand across my forehead and tighten my hair in the elastic band. Having longish hair doesn’t go with my position, but I don’t give a toss. Neither will I tie it back with one of those poncy things. An elastic band does just fine, thank you. Besides, I’ve never caredwhether I tick all or any of the boxes of what someone who runs a ‘business’ should look like - especially a business like mine.
What am I supposed to do? Sit in the corner of an office, chewing the ends of cigars, supping whiskey and speaking with an Italian accent or an American drawl?
Or should I be what I am: a Londoner?
Yes, I’ve got a cockney accent, so what? Being cockney didn’t hurt the Krays, did it?
But I hate the Italians more than life itself. Their withered brains have done them no favors, deluding them into a sense of superiority over us, even thoughouractions, territories and clout shout the very opposite.
Make no mistake, the Batemans take no prisoners.Itake no prisoners, and woe betide anyone who forgets that.
Reaching for my packet of cigarettes, I push away the hand of the lingering waitress brushing against my skin. Whatever outcome she’s angling for, she’ll fail. My eyes swivel briefly in her direction. “Fuck off, love. You’ve brought the drinks, so do one.”
As she scurries away wearing a distinct glow of humiliation on her cheeks, my brothers stare at me. “What?” I snap, knowing they’d already earmarked that waitress as a suitable candidate for their beds - especially Liam.
A small growl rises from the back of my throat, stopping any cocky remark either of them might think to make. They know better than to fuck with me. They may have the inclination to dip their cock into anything that moves, but I do not. Not anymore.
