The Hunted. Kerry Barnes

       Prologue

      South London, 1968

      A lamp cast its soft glow onto a round table positioned in the middle of the room. The closed, heavy red drapes gave the room a daunting – almost eerie – feel, as if the assembled group was about to engage in a séance.

      Dread twisted around Ronnie’s stomach. For a moment, he didn’t want to speak, so afraid his words would come out as just a mere squeak, and that he would look less than a worthy man. The eyes that glared back at him were narrow and beady, silently interrogating him, or perhaps posed to intimidate. Either way, he was now in the lion’s den, entirely at their mercy.

      Was his fiancée really worth it? Her beautiful face and long shapely legs popped into his head – yes, she definitely was. So, he had either to prove his worth or be fucked off by her brother and his close allies. Until now, he hadn’t quite grasped the power of these collective Jewish men. Sensing the intense atmosphere that pervaded the room, he knew they were more than just unassuming businessmen.

      He presumed this first meeting would be a case of proving himself. After all, he was going to marry their queen, their worshipped sister. Now, he surmised that this meeting wasn’t all about giving him the rundown on how to treat his wife-to-be. It was more than that – something much more profound, almost cultlike.

      The way in which they sat side by side with their hands clasped on the table symbolizing an unspoken bond between them, did it mean more than honour among family? After all, the two men who were scrutinizing him weren’t brothers by blood, they were brothers in a different sense. He suspected that they were united by a pledge.

      Ronnie could feel that they were going to initiate him into something – whatever it was he would soon find out.

      The silence, which was perhaps a mere few seconds, seemed to linger. They were sussing him out, trying to read his thoughts.

      He almost jumped when the taller of the two men, his future brother-in-law, spoke. ‘I understand you are a man who wants to earn money …’ He paused and glared, waiting for affirmation by a nod or a yes.

      Ronnie twisted his head slightly, questioning their statement.

      ‘We have a common enemy,’ the speaker continued.

      Ronnie raised his brow and waited, hoping he would get to the point.

      ‘Arthur Regan!’ He hissed the name through gritted teeth.

      Ronnie’s eyes widened. Yes, it was true: he and his brother Frank hated the Regan crew; in fact, they loathed them with a passion.

      Arthur Regan was only nineteen and had already taken charge of all the knocked-off gear that entered Bermondsey. His little empire was strong-handed and growing fast. They may be just out of nappies, but they were taking over the manor and earning good money.

      The business that had once been run by the Harman family had now been taken from under his nose just because the Regans had more muscle, and, worse, more front. The dealers, the robbers, and the pretty women were all being drawn in by Arthur’s success.

      So what was he left with? Fuck all, that’s what.

      He nodded and remained silent.

      ‘You are aware, I trust, that when you marry my sister, you and your brother become an integral part of our family? With that comes accountability!’

      Ronnie frowned. ‘Of course, but what’s that got to do with Arthur Regan?’ With the menacing expression staring back at him, he wondered if he should have been a little less direct.

      Ronnie watched in fascination as both men looked at each other and silently rolled up their sleeves to show a mark on their right wrist.

      Still oblivious, Ronnie shrugged. Again, he wondered if his body language was really doing him any favours. ‘Sorry. Am I missing something?’

      ‘You have a reason to take out the Regans’ firm. Although it may be very different from ours, it amounts to the same thing. We want Arthur Regan and his men hunted down for the scum they are. His home, his business, his family, and his fucking name will be ripped away, piece by fucking piece. That bastard and his followers shouldn’t be walking the streets, making money, or even breathing the same air as us. So, if you want to marry my sister and enter our family, you must agree to be on our side, no matter what it takes to ensure their pathetic lives and those of their children are tortured and tormented until they are living like worms under a rock!’

      A million thoughts tumbled over themselves as Ronnie tried to digest what the Jew was saying. Then, once again, his words were direct. ‘What have they done to you?’

      ‘Those cunts killed my brother, my beloved sister’s twin.’ The tall Jewish man looked to his left at the man seated beside him. ‘And they killed his brother too.’

      Ronnie glanced at the shorter man. A sudden shiver ran through his body, and for a second, he thought he was staring at the Devil himself. Portrayed in those dark, expressionless eyes and lopsided grin was a cruel streak.

      Leaning back in his chair, Ronnie grinned. This was it. He didn’t have to consider pledging himself to this pact, cult, or whatever the fuck it was. He was in. The Jews had money and a tight, nasty firm, and he had the prize bride. He had a gripe with the Regans, and so what better way to take over the manor than to do so with the help of a bunch of wealthy psycho Jews? Even better, he would take back what he believed was rightfully his.

      He gazed down once more at the strange marks on their wrists and was startled by a rustling sound from across the room. He could just make out a brooding figure in the shadows. Something in his hand gleamed from the soft light of the lamp. In a sudden rush of panic, Ronnie’s forehead formed beads of sweat and his mouth became as dry as a horse’s salt lick. As the daunting man approached the table, the side lamp shone a light on the tool he had in his hand. Ronnie’s heart rate levelled as soon as he realized it was only a tattoo gun.