Primal: London Mob Book Two Read Online Free Page A

bloody saliva dripped from the corner of his mouth. “Who are you working for?”
    The man opened his mouth as if to speak, but no sound came out.
    Farrell reached for his own gun and held it to the man’s temple. “You better start talking. While you still can.”
    “I don’t know.” The man’s words were barely decipherable through his ruined teeth. “Never met him.”
    “Keep talking,” Farrell said, pressing the gun more firmly into his temple.
    “Please… none of us have met him.” Farrell cocked the gun. “I swear! It’s how he works. We communicate through secure channels. We get our orders, payment’s deposited into our account. That’s all I know!”
    Farrell felt the brush of disappointment. The guy was a flunky. From the sound of it, there were more like him somewhere, but whoever was giving the orders hadn’t counted on Farrell. If they had, they would have sent at least five more men. He was almost sorry they’d underestimated him. It would have been more satisfying to lay more of them flat.
    Farrell shoved the gun in the waistband of his jeans and patted the guy down, removing his wallet and phone. He opened the billfold and removed the guy’s ID, reading the name aloud.
    “Albert Beake, two-eleven Tavistock, flat one-twelve,” he said, slipping it into his pocket. “If you deliver a message, I might not break into your flat and slit your throat in the middle of the night.”
    “Wh-what kind of message?”
    “Just tell whoever sent you that the woman and child are off limits. If someone comes after them again, they’re going to find body bags on the steps of Parliament, and it’s going to take a long time to sort out the parts. They want something, they come to me. Got it?”
    The man nodded, peering at Farrell through the slits of his eyelids.
    “Good.” Farrell slipped the man’s phone into his jacket.
    “Not my phone, bruv,” the man complained through his split lips.
    Farrell delivered a fierce punch to the man’s gut, then let him slide to the pavement. “You don’t tell me what to take,” Farrell said. “I take what I want.”
    He drew in a breath and turned toward Jenna and Lily. Lily was frozen, eyes wide as she stared at him from her position against the wall of the church. Farrell wanted to wrap her in his arms, tell her nothing would ever hurt her, ever frighten her again.
    But it was Jenna’s face that made his breath catch in his throat, her eyes flashing green over the soft rise of her cheekbones, her full lips parted in shock. There was something more than surprise there, something even more than fear. He almost dared to believe it was relief. Maybe even love.
    He moved slowly toward them, not wanting to frighten Lily after what she’d seen. “Are you all right?”
    Jenna nodded, then looked down at Lily. “You okay, love?”
    “Who was that man, Daddy?” Lily asked. There was no fear in her voice, only a kind of breathless wonder.
    Farrell swept the little girl into his arms, exhaling his relief at the feel of her against him. “He was a bad man, darling.”
    “But you stopped him, didn’t you? You stopped the bad man from doing bad things,” Lily said.
    Farrell didn't know what to say. The truth was more complicated, but this wasn’t the time to explain that some people thought Farrell was the bad man. That he did bad things in the name of protecting what was his.
    “Just looking out for my girls,” he said.
    “Are we your girls?” Lily asked. “Mummy, too?”
    “Always,” Farrell said, daring to look at Jenna. The brief window he’d had into her soul had closed. Her eyes were shuttered, her expression unreadable. “Let’s get out of here.”
    They stepped out of the alley and started toward Jenna’s flat. It was full dark now, the street lamps casting sickly yellow orbs of light onto the cracked pavement. He thought about going back for his car, then decided against it. They were closer to Jenna’s flat, and he wanted only to get her