Jacqui Rose - Avenged

AVON

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First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Publishers 2014

Copyright © Jacqui Rose 2014

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.

HarperCollins Publishers has made every reasonable effort to ensure that any picture content and written content in this ebook has been included or removed in accordance with the contractual and technological constraints in operation at the time of publication.

Source ISBN: 9780007503636

Ebook Edition © DECEMBER 2014 ISBN: 9780007503643

Version: 2015-04-09

This book is dedicated to survivors everywhere.

Eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot, burn for burn, wound for wound, stripe for stripe.

Exodus 21

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Epigraph

Prologue

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

Read on for a preview of Jacqui’s next book Disobey, coming in 2015

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Also by Jacqui Rose

About the Publisher

There it was again. The sound coming out of the darkness. Somebody was in the kitchen. Slowly getting out of bed and trying not to make any noise, Patrick Doyle crept over to his walnut dresser.

With his eyes adjusting to the night, Patrick carefully opened the top drawer. Putting his hand to the back of it he quickly found what he was looking for; his Colt .380 Mustang.

With the gun already loaded, Patrick cocked back the trigger and readied himself. Taking a deep breath and feeling the adrenalin rushing round his body, he headed out of his bedroom, onto the top landing.

He stood with his back against the wall, listening to the muffled sounds coming from behind the kitchen door. He counted down in his head, steadying his breathing; steadying his hand, ready to aim.

Three. Two. One … Patrick kicked open the door, slamming his full six-foot-three body sidewards into the kitchen. He yelled out into the darkness, bellowing instructions to the shadowed figure standing by the table.

‘Stay still! Stay the fuck still if you don’t want me to blow you clear away!’

‘Patrick, it’s me!’

A deep sigh was heard and the light switched on. Patrick’s face was full of anxiety as he threw down the gun on the table. ‘Holy Fuck! … Jesus Christ! … Have you lost your mind? I could have killed ye. Don’t ever do that again. Why didn’t you tell me you were coming? … Franny? … Franny? Are you okay? Have you been crying?’

Franny Doyle looked at Patrick and burst into tears. She felt so stupid. She was thirty-four years old and instead of planning her future with Jack, the man she was supposed to marry next year, she was running home to Patrick; something she’d vowed she’d never do.

Wiping away the tears from her piercing green eyes, Franny snivelled, feeling more foolish than ever.

‘It’s all gone wrong, Patrick. I should never have got engaged; it hasn’t been right for a long time. I know you never liked him, but I thought it’d get better over time; then when I found him in one of the clubs almost sucking the face off some woman, we had such a row and …’

Not giving Franny the chance to finish, Patrick’s eyes flashed with anger. ‘Tell me he didn’t lay his hands on you, because I swear to God I’ll kill him. The no-good piece of …’

It was Franny’s turn now to interrupt. Pushing her long chestnut hair out of her face, she implored Patrick. ‘ Please, can we do this tomorrow? I’m tired and I just want to get some sleep.’

‘No, we can’t, not till I know if he put his hands on you.’

Franny shook her head sadly. ‘No, Patrick, it’s not like that; anyway, you taught me how to look after myself. So, nothing was broken – only my heart.’

Patrick slumped down on the tall-back kitchen chair, all his pumped-up adrenalin leaving him. ‘Oh Franny, I’m sorry, do you want to talk about it?’

‘No, not now. Maybe tomorrow, but there isn’t really much to say. It’s over and I’m not going back. Would you mind if I stayed here while I figure out what to do?’

Patrick’s face lit up. ‘Mind? I’d love it. The place has never been the same without you. Get yourself into bed and I’ll bring you a cup of hot chocolate.’

Franny smiled, saying nothing as she stood up and kissed Patrick on the top of his head before walking out of the kitchen.

Five minutes later, Patrick Doyle stood with a steaming cup of hot chocolate in the doorway of Franny’s bedroom. She was fast asleep and, even though there were so many questions he wanted to ask her, he wasn’t going to wake her; instead, he walked into his own room, taking a sip of the drink and wincing as the hot liquid scalded his tongue.

As Patrick put the gun away into the back of the drawer again, he froze as his hand rested on a small silver chain and cross. Grasping it tightly in his hand, Patrick squeezed his eyes closed, stopping the stem of tears as he whispered the words. ‘Mary! Mary! Why couldn’t you be here with me, Mary?’

‘To be sure, Patrick Doyle, if you don’t come out from behind that tree right now, I won’t be going to the church dance with ye.’ Mary O’Flanagan stood with her hands on her hips pursing her lips in frustration.

Without coming out from his hiding place, Patrick shouted; his voice warm. ‘And who will you be going with instead, Mary?’

‘There’s many a boy who would take me, Paddy. I might go with one of the Barker boys from the next village.’