Jacqui Rose - Disobey

Published by Avon

An imprint of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd

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London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins 2015

Copyright © Jacqui Rose 2015

Cover Design © HarperCollins Publishers Ltd 2019

Cover Photographs © Shutterstock.com

Jacqui Rose asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780007503650

Ebook Edition © March 2015 ISBN: 9780007503667

Version: 2019-09-25

This book is to you, the readers who’ve come on this wonderful crazy journey with me. Thank you for your support.

‘No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it’s not the same river and he’s not the same man.’

– Heraclitus

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Epigraph

Prologue

Soho

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

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Chapter 64

Chapter 65

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

Keep Reading …

About the Author

Also by Jacqui Rose

About the Publisher

At four in the morning the door of the Turkish restaurant in Greek Street was kicked open. Careering into the wall, it caused the glass to smash into tiny fragments on the tiled floor. Three men waving baseball bats charged in, smashing everything in their way.

The sound of the chairs being kicked over and the tables being thrown woke the sleeping proprietor, Sarp, who’d seen and caused enough trouble throughout his own life to not hesitate to rush downstairs, cosh in hand, to face whatever danger awaited him.

Although Sarp had just had his fifty-sixth birthday, with adrenaline racing round his body he stood tall, sounding like a man much younger than his years.

‘What the fucking hell?’ The sight of the three Chinese men standing in the middle of his vandalised restaurant made Sarp see red and unwisely, he threw his full weight behind a punch, landing it directly in the smallest of the three men’s face. The blood splattered across the room, patterning the whitewashed wall with a sea of tiny red dots.

Without a moment’s hesitation, the men easily grabbed hold of the overweight Sarp, pushing him down against the sharp metal side of the bar’s counter. He cried out as the steel ripped into his bulbous flesh. ‘What … what do you want?’

The cold stare of the men sent a chill of fear through him.

‘We’ve warned you before. We told you there were no second chances. None. This time you pay up.’

‘I ain’t got the sort of money you’re asking for. The business isn’t doing that well.’

‘I’m not interested in your problems. You’ve had long enough; I’m sure you wouldn’t want anything happening to your restaurant or want your clientele to be too afraid to come here. The money’s to make sure these things don’t happen. To keep you safe.’

Sarp snarled at the men; his lip curling up in hatred. ‘Ain’t no need for protection mate; those days are long gone. We look after ourselves round here or we look after our own. Either way, we don’t need the likes of you thinking yer China’s answer to the Krays.’

‘You’re a very foolish man. Don’t you understand we’ll get our money one way or another; either which you’ll end up paying. Don’t make it difficult for yourself.’

Sarp leaned forward, wincing at the pain in his torn flesh. ‘Ain’t no way in the world I’m giving my hard-earned money to the likes of you. You can’t just go around doing this. There are rules; laws against this kind of stuff.’

‘Really? You want to talk about rules – perhaps you should be speaking to Alfie Jennings then.’

‘What are you talking about? What’s he got to do with it?’

‘You need to ask him, but in the meantime …’ The Chinese man spoke with a sarcastic tone as a smirk began to pass across his face. He pulled a blade out of his pocket. With a quick movement, he slashed Sarp across the cheek, drawing a five-inch gash on his face. The largest of the men pushed past him, disappearing out of the main area and upstairs into the living quarters. A couple of minutes later he returned, dragging a screaming woman through by her hair. She cried out to the owner in Turkish, her eyes wide with terror.

Sarp shouted loudly, fear in his voice. ‘Leave her alone! Leave her alone! She ain’t got nothing to do with this.’ He paused, seeing the look of terror in her eyes as she shook with dread. He turned to face the men directly. His voice was breathless; his words staggered.

‘Okay … okay, what do you want me to do?’

‘You have forty-eight hours and then we’ll be back. If you don’t have our money then; kiss your wife goodbye.’

They were all there. All of them. The faces of London coming together, putting their differences aside to sort out the problems hitting the streets of Soho. But as Alfie Jennings sat staring hard at Vaughn Sadler, who in turn was staring hard at Johnny and Frankie Taylor who sat belligerently in the corner with their backs turned on Tommy Donaldson who was refusing to converse with Del Williams, putting their differences aside looked like it was going to prove more difficult than any of them could have imagined.

‘Bleedin’ hell, anyone would think this is a flipping wake from the looks on your faces.’ Lola Harding cackled out her words as she served them chipped mugs of over-milked tea in her café in Bateman Street. She smiled an almost-toothless grin but only received deep scowls in return, which only served to make her laugh harder.