Picking up her mug of coffee, Grace leaned against the kitchen counter. Nathan looked terrible, even worse than she’d imagined he would. He’d taken so many drugs when he was younger, she’d thought they barely affected him anymore. But anyone who saw him couldn’t miss the fact that he was off his head. Back when they were married, he could have snorted Charlie for breakfast, washed it down with half a bottle of whisky and still looked presentable. In fact, she could only recall one occasion where she’d seen him looking worse than he did currently. At the time, she’d thought he was going to die.

If only he had.

Chapter Sixty-Four

Fourteen Years Earlier

As he paced up and down the small office that once belonged to his former boss, Tommy McNulty, Nathan downed his drink in one large gulp. His hand trembled slightly as he set the tumbler down on the desk, the ice clinking in the bottom of the glass. Licking the remainder of the whisky from his lips, he sat in the big leather chair. Tommy’s old chair. He was waiting for Kenny Lennox and some of the lads to get back to the club.

They’d gone to see Mickey the Fence; he was the last link in the chain. They had broken bones and rearranged faces in the search for Tommy’s killer. If Mickey didn’t know anything, or if he was clever enough to keep his trap shut if he did, then the trail went cold and Nathan was in the clear.

He could hear them in the hallway. He touched the gun that was taped under the desk, as if to make sure it was still there should he need it. Kenny came in first followed by John Brennan and Fat Gavin; all three of them seemed in good spirits.

‘Nothing, boss,’ Kenny said, taking the packet of cigarettes from the desk and lighting himself one. ‘Not a dickie bird, no one seems to know a fucking thing.’

Nathan feigned his outrage. ‘How can no one know anything? He was Tommy fucking McNulty, for fuck’s sake!’

Kenny took a step back, unsure whether his boss’s wrath was directed at him for not looking hard enough. Nathan didn’t say anything to make him feel better. It wasn’t his style.

‘Did you get anything at all from Mickey?’ Nathan asked finally.

‘Not a sausage, about Tommy, boss. But …’

‘But what, Kenny?’

‘That knob, Kevin Mitchell, has been mouthing off again. Telling anyone who’ll listen that you’re a cunt, and he’s going to sort you out. His words, not mine.’

Kevin Mitchell was, at one time, Tommy and Nathan’s main rival. But they had successfully taken over most of his business and now he was a nobody.

‘Does he have a fucking death wish or something?’ Nathan snapped.

Kenny shrugged. ‘Want us to shut him up for good?’