Most Wanted (2005)

Chapter One: The King of Corby

Corby, 2005. The town had a reputation—one that stretched far beyond the bounds of Northamptonshire. Once known for its steel industry, it was now known for something else entirely: violence. Gangs prowled the streets, staking claims on territory like dogs fighting over scraps. The town centre was a battleground, where the only law that held sway was the law of survival. It was the kind of place where mothers hurried their children home from school, where the shutters of shops clattered down early, and where police sirens were the soundtrack to daily life.

The air in Corby was thick with the scent of smoke from the steelworks, the remnants of an industry that had left the town as broken and as bruised as the men who once worked in it. The pubs were full by noon, where worn-out men nursed pints as they spoke in hushed tones about the latest street fights and gang disputes. Newspapers sold out quickly, as everyone wanted to read about who was winning the war for Corby. It was in these pages that the stories of the town were written—violent tales of betrayal, robbery, and bloodshed.

It was in this chaos that Raymond Hind thrived. A hulking figure of a man, Ray stood tall with a physique carved out of years of street brawls and gym sessions. His bald head gleamed under the dim light of his bedroom as he pulled on a black tank top that clung to his muscular frame, highlighting the dragon tattoo that snaked its way down his right arm—a symbol of the fear he inspired. For Ray, life was simple. It was all about power. Power meant money, respect, and control, and Corby was his kingdom to claim.

Downstairs, the rest of his crew waited. Christopher Johnston, Ray's right-hand man, sat at the kitchen table, checking the time on his Rolex. Smartly dressed in a designer shirt and jeans, Chris looked more like a businessman than a criminal. But beneath the polished exterior was a mind as sharp as a blade. Every decision Ray made, Chris was there to back him up, always ready to step in with a quick word or a faster fist. He wasn’t in this for the thrill—he was in it for his family. Claire, Ray’s daughter, and their five-year-old son, Cameron, were everything to him. But in Corby, being the son-in-law of a crime lord meant that legitimate jobs weren’t an option. This was the only way he could provide the life he wanted for them.

Barry McGlone was a different beast altogether. A towering brute, Baz was all muscle and rage. He slouched in a corner of the room, tugging at the cuffs of his tracksuit, his leg jittering with barely contained energy. To Baz, life was a party that never ended. He lived for the rush of adrenaline that came with each fight, each robbery, each night spent drowning in drugs and booze. He wasn’t smart—he didn’t need to be. All he needed was the strength to break bones and the stomach to keep doing it until Ray told him to stop.

Richard Flecknor, or Fleck as he was known, leaned against the counter, a cigarette hanging loosely from his lips. Fleck was the man with the connections—the one who knew everything about everyone. He was conflicted, as always. He had joined the gang for the money, for the lifestyle, but the deeper he got, the more he questioned it. Yet every time he thought about leaving, he remembered the power, the respect, and the cold hard cash that came with being in Ray’s inner circle. And so, he stayed, his ear to the ground, listening for opportunities, ensuring the gang always had the upper hand.

Ray entered the kitchen, his presence commanding immediate attention. “Right, lads,” he began, his voice a deep rumble that brooked no argument. “Today’s the day. The Starlight Bar is the fanciest place in town, and we’re hitting it.”

“The place just opened an hour ago,” Fleck added, exhaling a stream of smoke. “Should be quiet enough, but the till will be full. Anca’s always been a bit careless with the cash before the lunchtime crowd.”

Ray nodded. “Baz, you’ll handle the front. Make sure no one gets any smart ideas. Chris, you and I will deal with the tills. Fleck, you’re our eyes and ears. Keep watch and signal if anything’s off. We get in, get the cash, and get out before anyone knows what’s happened.”