Thorns And Roses

Chapter Thirty-One

A/N: I'm baaack. And I know! I know! I'm sad that it took me this long to update but I had my reasons – everything just got so unbelievably busy for me. Hopefully, this extra-long chapter can make up for it a little. To those who are still actually reading and are interested in the story thank you! It was really encouraging to keep getting notifications and kept me going when I felt so unmotivated to write. But I have not given up on this story and I am determined to finish it! MERRY CHRISTMAS! 😋 x

~O~

That night, a peculiar misty fog glided across the dark London streets and cloaked the town of Wandsworth in a foreboding atmosphere. Out of the mist, the slender figure of a young man emerged with a rolled-up paper in hand. By the way he strode so confidently and hurriedly, anyone could tell this man was determined to get to his destination.

A rat scuttled out from one of the alleys and ran across the cobbles in front of him making him scowl and stop. He was a young man in his teens with thick dark hair and a thin stubble of facial hair beneath his nose. Despite the scowl, there were a pair of kind blue eyes that gave away a softness if one was to look hard enough.

The young man frowned and looked behind him, checking that he had not been followed by the law before he entered the building up ahead. When he could neither see nor hear anyone in the dead of the night he pressed on and approached an oak door of a tavern looking building with a single oil lamp burning above it.

Without bothering to knock, he pushed open the door and made his way down concrete stairs at a fast pace. Soon enough he came to a door and heard the sound of men laughing and drinking. A celebration of today's mission no doubt, the thought made his blood boil.

Without hesitation, he pushed open the door and entered into a large dimly lit room where a wrangle of men sat around a table, smoking and drinking around a game of cards. He recognised the first three immediately. Joe, Bill and Doug, the last of them who got his arse battered by a mere woman a few months ago and now bore the brunt of his friends torment ever since.

When the door shut behind him, all the men stopped playing their card game and looked at him with an unfriendly gaze. But he did not care, he was not afraid of them.

"Where's my father?" He demanded, getting straight to the point.

Inhaling his cigar, Quick Fingered Joe, as he was named by his fellow men, exhaled and slouched back in his chair "That any way ta greet ya friends Davy? Not even a hello, or congratulations? Rather rude, boy."

"Celebration." The young man named Davy spat "Celebration?! Four people are dead, one a kid an' a pregnant woman an' you call this a celebration?"

"Doug 'ad to do wot was necessary." Joe defended, unsurprised at the boy's anger. This was something that set Davy apart from the rest of them. His heart. "We did exactly as we were told, an' in my eyes, anyone who supports Sykes is a part o the problem, they got wot they deserved."

"Those people are jus' more enemies you've created for our group!" Davy argued "Don't cha think we've got enough as it is? An' wot did an unborn child ever do ta you or a kid the age of seven? Ya didn't even fully hit Sykes carriage, it hit the crowd! For a man who knows 'ow ta make a bomb Doug ya got terrible placement issues. Maybe it's that dodgy arm of yours."

Doug growled and drunkenly stood up ready to give the little urchin a beating but was grabbed by the collar and pulled back down into his seat by a more composed and slightly amused Joe. "Oi, calm down. Don't do anythin' stupid."

Still shaking with anger, Doug narrowed a dirty finger at him "Now you listen 'ere you little mite. I've done far more for this group today than you've ever done in your bloody life. Just because your daddy's boy doesn't give ya the right ta come in' ere an' start tearin' my good work down."