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the hardest face. That’s what had attracted her to him all those years ago.

      Tasha’s father had been a bully and handy with his fists, and her mother had been nowhere to be seen for most of her childhood. The combination of an absent mother and a bully of a father had driven Tasha into Freddie’s arms, seeing him as someone who could protect her from her father. And he had.

      Tasha could still remember the day it had happened as if it was yesterday. Her father had been sitting on the outside toilet, reading the Racing Post with his kecks round his ankles and no doubt the usual sour look on his face.

      After hearing the way her father treated her, Freddie had pulled up outside their house in his Rolls Royce, walked through the house, into the garden, and kicked down the door of the toilet. Her father’s face had been a picture; surprise, then shock, then fear.

      Everyone in the East End knew Freddie Thompson and her father hadn’t been any different. The last thing anybody wanted was to be on the wrong side of Freddie, especially with their trousers round their ankles.

      Freddie had dragged her father through the kitchen, before kicking him out onto the doorstep. Even now it made Tasha smile to remember her father pleading with Freddie not to hurt him, his trousers still down and his pasty, spotty white arse on show for all the neighbours to see.

      That day Freddie had packed up her stuff and moved Tasha in with him. And she’d been with him ever since. Within a week she’d realised she was only swapping one controlling man for another, rather than the man of her dreams.

      Even though Freddie was just as much of a bully as her father, at least in his own way Freddie loved her. Her father hadn’t even come close to loving her. Freddie had looked out for her and wouldn’t let anyone hurt her, and for that Tasha was grateful. He’d never raised a hand to her, whereas her father constantly had. However, there was one big difference between the two men. If Tasha ever cheated or said she was leaving, even though he’d never laid a finger on her, she knew Freddie Thompson would kill her.

      Tasha looked over her son’s shoulder to check herself in the mirror. She looked good. Her blonde highlighted hair tumbled past her shoulders. Her constantly tanned skin glowed and her curvaceous figure hadn’t changed much since she was twenty.

      She knew she was taking a risk. A huge risk. But she couldn’t help it. Last month she’d tried to stop it but after a week she’d found it impossible to curtail her feelings. Her sister had told her it was madness. ‘Tash, Freddie ain’t going to be happy with just giving you a hiding. He’ll kill you and what’s more, he’ll probably bleeding kill me an’ all.’

      Tasha didn’t need to be told; she knew. She’d never meant it to happen, but some things in life you just couldn’t help. And love was one of them.

      Tasha sighed, watching the frown forming on her forehead in the mirror as doubt started to show on her face and a sudden dread swept over her. She turned away, not wanting to see her own fear reflecting back at her. She didn’t want to think about it anymore. Freddie was banged up, she was in Bradford. Perhaps it would be alright … it had to be.

      Standing on her tiptoes to kiss Ray-Ray on his cheek, she purred as she spoke. ‘Okay baby. I’m going.’

      Ray-Ray watched his mother as she walked out of the room but before she got to the doorway he grabbed her hand.

      ‘Mum … be careful … please.’

      Tasha smiled; a deep warmth showing in her eyes, before turning to walk away without another word.

      Ten minutes later, Ray-Ray rushed down the stairs. He was going to be late. As he got to the bottom he heard a loud bang then froze as the front door was kicked open and four men he’d never seen in his life forced their way into the hallway.

      Instinctively, Ray-Ray ran towards the kitchen and towards the back door, hoping to grab hold of one of the kitchen knives in the wooden block on the side. Fear didn’t rush through him, only survival.

      He hadn’t reached the door before he felt a hot pain at the back of his head, then the warmth of his blood trickling down his neck as he continued to run for the door. The kitchen knives were over in the far corner. He hesitated, only for a fraction of a second, trying to decide whether to grab one, but it was enough to cost him the chance.

      Ray-Ray felt his arm being pulled, causing him to spin round and face his attackers.

      ‘Motherfucking pig. You stay away from her,’ Mahmood screamed at Ray-Ray, enjoying the rush of adrenaline. He would make him pay for the dishonour he brought on his family and was going to teach him a lesson he wouldn’t forget.

      Holding onto Ray-Ray, Mahmood could feel he wasn’t as strong as him and if he wasn’t careful he’d soon be overpowered. He quickly looked around for Tariq who was standing back doing nothing, with a look of shock on his face.

      ‘Tariq, what are you doing? Get hold of him.’

      After a moment’s hesitation Tariq grabbed hold of one of Ray-Ray’s flailing arms as his cousin, one of the four of the group his uncle had recruited, held onto the other. Mahmood drew back, clenching his fist before he began to pummel Ray-Ray’s stomach. Over and over again he brought back his hand, until Ray-Ray began to noisily cough up blood, the sound of it drowned out by Mahmood continuing to shout, his eyes wild with rage, ‘You will never see her again. Never.’

      Tariq and his cousin let Ray-Ray fall onto the floor. Tariq stepped away towards the door, wanting to go. It’d gone far enough. This isn’t what he’d thought was going to happen. Maybe he’d been naive, but he’d believed his uncle when they’d told him they were only going to shake him up; scare him a little.

      He watched as his uncle drove his steel heel sideways into Ray-Ray’s nose, crunching the cartilage down as he groaned in agony, splattering the area with blood.

      ‘Pour it.’ Mahmood gave the order, passing a small bottle to Tariq. ‘I said, pour it Tariq.’

      Tariq froze, staring at the bottle, then looked at his uncle in horror. ‘No, uncle, I can’t. Not this. Stop it, please.’

      Mahmood’s face creased into anger. ‘Do not disobey me and bring shame on me boy.’

      Tariq felt the bottle being snatched away from his hands by one of the men who’d come in with him. A man Tariq hadn’t seen before. With a smirk he spoke to Tariq. ‘Give it to me. I’m more than happy to do it.’

      The agony and the smell of his own burning flesh was the last thing Ray-Ray Thompson remembered.

      3

      She was perfect. Just perfect. Stroking her head of soft curls streaked with warm browns and honeyed blonde, he smiled warmly at her. ‘It’s not good for you to go without food. Eat something.’ He paused and looked down intently before adding, ‘Please.’

      It was no good. She’d no intention of eating the chicken soup he’d spent the past half-hour lovingly making. ‘I suppose you’re on a diet. Maybe I should’ve made you a salad instead. If it helps any, I think you’re lovely just the way you are.’

      She stared at him before she turned her head to one side. He wasn’t going to push her. He didn’t want to upset her. She’d eat when she was ready, like she’d talk when she felt able. These things took time; he knew that. Pushing back her curls, he kissed her gently on her forehead.

      She coughed, making him look up at her, worried. He couldn’t remember a July as warm as this one but for some reason she was still trembling. It was true the evening’s were cooler, but it worried him the way she was shaking. It certainly wouldn’t do for her to get cold. He turned up the heating before standing up from the small metal-framed bed.

      ‘Try to get some sleep sweetheart. You’ve got a big day tomorrow.’ Heading for the door, he stopped. ‘Silly me, I almost forgot.’ Turning back, he picked up the rope. ‘It wouldn’t do now if I forgot this, would it?’ With

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