Mason: A Manchester Bad Boys Romance (6 page)

Nicole

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

I sat in my car, my mind racing. A background check - by Social Services. It couldn’t happen. There was no way that my cover story would hold up to that kind of scrutiny. It had been good for casual conversation - a gap year from university, living off student loans. It explained all my free time and why I didn’t have to work. But it wasn’t official. There were no bank accounts, no National Insurance number. The passport and driving licence were fakes, and would be flagged as such when they were ran though the database.

This is it. This is the crunch.
I went though every scenario in my mind, trying to organise my thoughts.

Option one - go along with it. There was no way that could happen - it breached every protocol of undercover work, and it would be for nothing. I’d be flagged as a fraud, and Mason would find out. It would destroy everything. The custody case, my relationship with Mason,
and
my job.

Option two - call it all in. That’s what I should be doing. That was the protocol. Contact Thompson and explain that my cover was about to be blown, and let him handle it from there. I’d keep my job, although the investigation would be a bust. An officer dropping out of sight meant that CID would be loathe to insert another undercover officer into Terry’s circle. But if I did, Mason would be charged with the weapons offence. And to what end? Terry’s gang would still be operating, and Damon would go into care.

Option three - persuade Mason to drop the custody battle. That would be something that Thompson would approve of. That option preserved the cover, the investigation. Never mind that a small boy would suffer as a result of it - he was merely collateral damage. But I couldn’t do that, not now. I realised, finally, that I’d done the exact thing that I’d sworn I would never do - I’d got emotionally involved, not just with Mason but with Damon, too.

That only left one option. It was the hardest one, but I knew deep down that morally, it was the right thing to do.

Option four - leave Mason. He’d be free to pursue the custody case and keep Damon, without my dodgy background check holding him back. I could report to the station that he’d broken up with me, ending my involvement. There’d be some piss-taking, sure, but I wouldn’t lose my job over it. And the CID would be free to go after Terry English from a new angle.

Leave Mason.

Just the thought of it made me sick to my stomach, but I knew there was no other way to keep him safe, to keep innocent Damon safe.

I got back out of the car. I had to do this now, while my resolve was strong. He looked surprised, but pleased to see me again so soon after I had rushed off, and it cut me to the quick.

“Change of plan?” he said, drawing me close.

“Is Damon in bed?” I asked.

“Yeah, it’s just me and you,” he said, kissing my neck.

“I can’t…” I began.

“Can’t what?” he said, picking up on the weight of my words.

“I can’t do this. Any of this,” I said, feeling the first sting of tears.

“Is it because of Damon?” he said. “I don’t want you to be a mother to him, Nicole. There’s no pressure, I swear.”

“It’s not Damon,” I said. “It’s just me. I’m sorry. I can’t see you any more.”

“Why? What’s changed?”

The pain on his face was tangible, but I had no explanation to give him - no truthful one, anyway.

“I just don’t want a relationship,” I said shakily.

“Do you love me?” He was holding my wrists, his blue eyes blazing into mine, trying to see the truth behind my obvious lies. “Because I love you, Nicole.”

I gathered every ounce of resolve I had, forcing my voice and my face to be harsh and cold.

“If you love me, Mason, then listen to me. It’s over. I don’t want you in my life, and that’s the end of it. Now let me go.”

He dropped my wrists as if they burned him, and I turned on my heel, stalking out and slamming the door behind me.

It was done. Halfway home, I had to pull the car over. I was crying so much I couldn’t see the road. Every instinct in my body told me to go back, to apologise, to cover him in kisses and feel him close to me. But I couldn’t, it was the selfish thing to do. I’d hurt him, yes, but if I’d have stayed then I’d have hurt him ten times as much. I had to be strong, deal with the pain, and know that I’d given him a better life - a life with his son.

It was over.

Mason

It was over.

I was sitting in the meeting, trying to listen to what Terry was saying, but I couldn’t focus. All I could think about was her. I kept going over that evening again, obsessively, even though it hurt.

It had seemed to come out of thin air - everything had been fine. We’d been flirting, getting along well, and then she’d bolted. I didn’t believe for a second that her ‘friend’ had called for help, and besides, she’d been back so soon after she left. But when she left, she hadn’t seemed angry - more scared. The only thing it could be, the only possible explanation, was the background check. Maybe she had something in her past, something she was ashamed of. I could relate to that - and she knew it. I’d told her everything about me, all my deep and dark secrets, but yet she couldn’t trust me enough to share hers.

Instead, she’d left me, without any kind of explanation. When I’d asked for one, she’d turned cold and harsh. It was as if she was another person, not my sweet Nicole, my soul mate, the love of my life.

Or was I just an idiot? Had I done it again, allowed myself to follow my faulty instincts and trust someone, only for them to rip my heart out and destroy me? I tried to make myself hate her, hoping that it would make it easier for me, but I couldn’t. I wanted to help her, not hate her. She had been scared, scared of something or someone, and I wanted to protect her from it. I wanted her back.

After the meeting, Terry asked me to stay for a word.

“What’s on your mind, son? You don’t seem yourself.”

My first thought was to brush it off, but I remembered the conversation I’d had with Terry about Iraq. He was a lot more understanding than he seemed on the brash, hard man surface. And I needed to talk to someone.

“Everything, Terry. Everything’s on my mind. My ex - Karen -has had our boy taken off her by Social Services.”

“Jesus, that’s rough,” he said. “What are you going to do?”

“Try for custody,” I said. “But that’s falling to shit now, too. I need to be earning legally, to pass their investigation. And Nicole - Nicole’s gone, too.”

“The posh bird? What did I tell you? They ain’t like us, son. First sign of trouble and they’re off, looking for some Herbert with a nice car and a fat pension. You’re better off without her. Take my advice, and stay single. Focus on your boy.”

He made it all sound so simple, so easy. Forget her.

“What about the job, though? I need to get straight. Something legal. My future is tax, national insurance, day care, parent’s evening. You’ve been good to me, Terry, you really have, and I’m eternally grateful. But I can’t stick around if I want to pass this custody hearing.”

A shrewd expression crossed his face for a second, just a flicker, before he settled back into his usual avuncular, everything-will-be-okay manner.

“Maybe I can help you with that, son.”

“Yeah?”

“Some of my boys, my inner circle, so to speak. They have the same kind of problems you do. Ex wives, probation officers, you name it. Everyone lining up to tell them how to live their lives. You know Chopper?”

I did. Chopper was Terry’s right hand man, the terror of Manchester.

“You know where he works?”

I looked at him quizzically. Chopper worked wherever Terry told him to work, everyone knew that. He was usually to be found wherever Terry needed someone working over.

“At the car sales place on Oldham Old Road.”

I knew the place - a rundown, sad little car lot that never had any trade.

“It’s a front?”

He laughed. “It’s a fucking car park, is what it is. Never made a sale there since I started trading thirty years ago. But it’s where Chopper is legally employed, forty hours a week. He pays his tax, his stamp, and nobody is any the wiser. I could do the same for you… if you wanted it.”

I knew Terry better than this. He didn’t offer out pretend jobs to every guy that collected betting money for him. There would be a cost attached. But on the other hand, it was a pretty tempting deal. If I could keep working for Terry, I’d still be earning decent money, and I’d have more for Damon. More money, more time. He was due to start school, and he could have all the things the other kids had. Playstations and trainers and all the shit that kids needed to feel part of the gang.

“That sounds good, Terry. I want it. But you can’t just hand it to me on a plate like that. Let me do something for you - a favour - to show my gratitude.”

I knew how to play the game. If I had asked Terry outright what he wanted, he’d have taken offence. The offer would be off the table, and my arse out of the door, as well.

“You’re a good lad, son. I wish they were all like you,” he said, clapping a beefy hand on my shoulder.

“There is something you can do for me, as a matter of fact.”

“Sure, whatever you need.”

“Donal Callaghan - the biker prick. I’m tired of playing games. I want him out.”

“Out?”

“Use one of those shooters I gave you. They won’t be traced. I’ll give you a time and a place soon enough.”

Shit.

This was a big ask, and Terry knew it. There was a long way between roughing up a bent bookie and killing a rival gang leader. He read the expression on my face.

“You have a think about it, let me know if you want the car sales job. If you don’t - no hard feelings. But you need to decide, son - in or out? You can’t keep sitting on the fence without getting splinters in your arse.”

He was right, of course. Not just about the gang, about everything. I had to decide who I was. A killer or a wage slave.

In or out…

Nicole

I moved slowly through the park, walking at a deliberately casual pace, keeping well behind my target. Just a woman out for a stroll, nothing to see here. Nothing to draw the eye or attract attention - I was completely forgettable.

These were the skills I’d learned as part of my undercover training, the ability to blend in and become part of the scenery, the unseen observer. And I was using them to follow my ex-boyfriend around a park.

It was sad. It was pathetic. It was risky. I knew that, all of that, and yet I couldn’t stop. Yesterday I’d watched him go the shops with Damon. He’d bought him something from the toy shop - I couldn’t tell what - and Damon had carried the bag home himself, swelling visibly with pride at his new possession.

Today, I knew what the present had been - a remote controlled helicopter. They were flying it together, Mason teaching Damon how to use the controls to make the cheery red machine flit back and forth across the sky. At one point, the wind changed and I could hear a snatch of conversation - Mason telling Damon not to fly it over the pond in case it fell in.

It was bittersweet, watching them. They were having a great time, and that was lovely to watch. Especially seeing Damon’s face light up with joy, not at the gift, but at the way Mason was interested in spending time with him. It was obvious that the lonely little boy was thriving, and I knew I had done the right thing by removing myself from the situation.

But god, it still hurt. To be this close and not be able to touch. Every day, every time I followed Mason, my wounds ripped open again. I would go home and cry, and promise myself that it was over, that I wouldn’t ‘check up on him’ again. But like a moth to the flame that burns, I would come back, watching again. I could feel tears welling up - again - and I rummaged in my bag for a tissue. Looking down, I didn’t see the cheery red helicopter until it landed at my feet.

“I’m sorry, we’re still getting the hang of-”

I looked up, and there was Mason, standing directly in front of me, bending to pick up the machine.

“Nicole. What are you doing here?”

A million excuses flashed though my brain.
I live nearby. I always walk here. I bought a dog and it ran away.
Before I could pick one, my traitorous heart had taken over.

“I miss you,” I said.

“Nicole!” Damon yelled, running over to fling his arms around me. “Daddy bought me a helicopter! Have you come to fly it with us?”

“I- no, love. I was just…”

I didn’t know what to say.

“Damon. Go and see if there’s any ducks in the pond. If there is, we could get some bread and feed them,” Mason said. Damon immediately rushed off to check.

“Thanks,” I said, staring at my feet.

“You miss me?” Mason said quietly.

I couldn’t look at him. But I could see his hand come into view, moving towards mine. Slowly, hesitantly. I reached out, just a fraction, and wrapped my fingers around his, still unable to look at him, still unable to think about what was happening.

“I missed you too,” he said.

“Hey! Hey you!”

The voice was loud, too loud, and it broke the spell. We both looked up, still holding hands. A man was staggering towards Mason, clutching a can of Special Brew. He looked homeless. One of Terry’s guys? Unlikely. Terry’s men were rough around the edges, but they didn’t look like actual tramps. “I know you!” the man yelled again as he reached us.

“I don’t think so, mate,” Mason said, in a forbidding tone.

“Not you, dickhead,” the tramp slurred. “Her. PC Mills.”

My blood turned to ice.

“I think you’re mistaken,” Mason said.

“I’m not,” the tramp said indignantly. “I never forget a face, especially a beautiful one like hers. I was at Crompton Street nick when she came in, looking all fancy in her jeans and t-shirt. She was there for a meeting. She’s a copper. PC Mills.”

He beamed proudly.

I turned to Mason.

“I’m not-”

But it was no good. I could see it on his face and feel it on mine. We both knew that the tramp was telling the truth.

I dropped his hand and ran.