Bad Boys of London: The Complete GYPSY HEROES Collection (58 page)

Fuck! Not good.

I grab his ankles in my hand, pull his bottom upwards, and, using the diaper, wipe away the worst of the brown mess before smoothly sliding the diaper out. I fold it on itself and fix it with the sticky tapes. As fast as I can, I clean the area with the baby wipes, making sure to get into all the folds. I dump the wipes into the plastic bag with the soiled diaper and tie it tightly.

I let out the breath I was holding in a sudden burst.

Adam grabs his toes with his hands and watches the great big gulps of air I take.

‘And then what happened?’ I say to him.

He claps his hands and coos.

‘Mummy’s the first best thing that ever happened to me, and you’re the second best thing that ever happened to me,’ I tell him.

He lets out a little squeal.

‘I know, but Mummy has to come first. Without Mummy there would be no Adam. You see how all this works, huh?’

I carry on talking more nonsense while I apply diaper cream, and then I lift his little bottom up again and slide the new diaper under him. I pull it over and snap the Velcro bits down. I dress him again in the same clothes. I tickle the soles of his feet and he cackles with laughter, his big blue eyes sparkling with innocence.

‘You wait until you become a daddy. Then we’ll see how you get on with changing dirty nappies.’

I wipe my hands and, picking him up, hold him close to my chest. After a big kiss and hug, we go downstairs. He can have a bottle of lovely warm milk while I have my glass of whiskey.

I’ve fucking earned it.

I open the door and see Dom coming down carrying Adam. My face breaks into a happy grin. No matter how many times I see the two of them together the joy that fills my heart never lessens. I love them both so much sometimes it feels as if my heart will burst with happiness.

‘Hello,’ I say.

‘Ah, Mummy’s home,’ Dom says with a grin.

‘Hello darling,’ I say going closer to them. Adam is so crazy about his Dad he will not come to me or anyone else when his father is around, but he does make an excited squawk and wave his little arms at me. I walk up to them and standing on tip- toes kiss first Dom and then my beautiful son.

I touch Adam’s diaper. ‘Does he need changing?’

‘All done.’

My eyebrows rise. ‘You changed his diaper?’

‘Of course.’

I hide a smile. ‘Any … um … problems?’

‘No,’ he says casually.

‘Well done,’ I say with a huge smile.

‘Although, you really should stop feeding our son dead cats.’

I laugh.

‘And what have you been up to?’ he asks.

I lift up my bag of shopping. ‘I got you your favourite.’

His eyes twinkle. ‘Chocolate arrows?’

I pretend to be serious. ‘No.’

‘Watermelon pasties.’

‘Be serious, you,’ I reprimand with mock seriousness.

‘If it’s not watermelon pasties I give up. I don’t know. What?’

‘Edible panties.’

He grins cheekily. After thousands and thousands of grins. After all this time my tummy still flutters with the incredulous thought, and this man is mine?

‘Wonderful,’ he says, eyes twinkling. ‘It’s been ages since I ate one of those delicious things.’

‘You ate one two weeks ago,’ I remind.

‘That’s way too long, Ella, my love. Way too long.’

THE END

Beautiful Beast

Published by Georgia Le Carre

Copyright © 2015 by Georgia Le Carre

Cover Designer: http://www.kevindoesart.com/

Editor: Caryl Milton & IS Creations

Proofreader: http:// http://nicolarheadediting.com/

The right of Georgia Le Carre to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the copyright, designs and patent act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

All characters in this publication are fictitious, any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

ISBN:
978-1-910575-20-8

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Georgia Le Carre

Dedication

To my darling husband,

I couldn’t do without you.

One

SHANE

‘My milkshake brings all the girls to the yard.’

I
stand at the bar, my hand loosely curled around a bottle of ice-cold beer, and try to imagine a hundred years passing inside these glittering walls. And in a flash I am connected to every sad, twisted fucker inside that cavernous former theater. In a century we’re all going to be nothing but a fistful of dust. But today … Hot blood throbs in my cock and I am still king of my empire of dirt.

I cast my eyes around—and everything is exactly as it should be.

Cool air filters out of vents in the ceiling, loud music beats on my skin like morning rain in the tropics, and roving spotlights pick up waitresses in fluffy white tutus. With their tight little butts on show, they glide around as perky as fucking swans.

Sometimes the spotlights stop to lick one of the scantily clad, insanely glamorous dancers sprinkled around the place like magic dust. They are the candy in my sweet shop. Because … Hidden in the cool shadows of the booths where the spotlights never go, soulless men in dark suits and bulging wallets wait with buckets of champagne and an insatiable taste for pussy. Not that they can actually have any while they’re in here, obviously, but hey, they can jerk off to the memory until their dicks drop off.

Yup, all is well in Eden.

I pick up my beer, bring it to my lips, and notice something that
isn’t
exactly as it should be.

Martin, my manager, is escorting one of the dancers out of one of the VIP rooms. His lips are compressed into a thin line of fury, and she looks shit-scared as she struggles to keep up in her seven-inch-high transparent, plastic shoes. They have red lights inside the wedges that flash every time she takes a tottering step. Fuck, my four-year-old niece wears trainers that flash. I have never seen her before, so she must be new.

A row of beautiful girls preening by the bar exchanges knowing looks. One or two giggle heartlessly when a discreet, black exit door draped with thick, red velvet curtains swallows the pair. Beyond is Martin’s office where the hiring and firing is done.

I take a sip of cold beer, my eyes swinging back in the direction of the VIP room they have just vacated. In an impressive show of clockwork precision, the housemother, Brianna, is already slipping into it. You can tell by her purposeful air and the veiled expression on her carefully made-up face that she is on a clean-up mission.

She emerges a few minutes later, smiling serenely, and nods to one of the girls loitering by the bar. The girl immediately starts walking toward her. They meet by the mirrored pillars, exchange a few words before the girl makes for the VIP room, and Brianna continues, unruffled, on her journey.

Problem solved.

The music changes and AronChupa’s quirky track ‘I’m an Albatraoz’ fills the charmed air. One of the club’s favorite dancers, Melanie, a sleek black girl in a skin-tight catsuit with geometric patterns, struts energetically onto the stage. The effect of her appearance is instantaneous: the atmosphere in the club becomes electric. The stage lights are switched off, and Melanie disappears. All that remains is the collection of fluorescent patterns on her costume working their way strongly up a pole. It is a marvelous sight and the audience erupts in a collective roar of approval.

I place my drink down and turn back to watch the curtained door. I don’t tend to interfere in the day-to-day running of my club. Why would I? Any fool can see that between Martin and Brianna they run a very tight ship. And yet something about flashing shoes has my interest piqued.

Perhaps it is because I can always tell an innocent with one look, and she is as green as they come. I wouldn’t be surprised if this is her first attempt at strip dancing. But mostly because I can never let an injustice pass. It used to get me into all kinds of trouble when I was a kid, but it’s in my DNA; I just can’t look the other way.

Less than five minutes later she tumbles back into the club. Her ridiculous wedges are still flashing, but tears are streaming down her face. Martin has cracked the whip. She has been fired. She lurches toward a side door that leads to the changing rooms. I walk quickly to the door nearest to me and enter my pass code. The door opens into the passage she has entered.

‘Oh!’ she exclaims when she sees me. In the bright lights of the corridor, her face, under its thick make-up, has a washed out hue, and her eyes are glassy and distraught.

‘Come with me,’ I say, and she silently follows me upstairs to my office. I hold the door open and let her precede me. Closing the door, I then walk toward my liquor cabinet.

‘Would you like a drink?’ I throw over my shoulder.

‘No thank you, Mr. Eden,’ she replies meekly.

I turn my head and meet her eyes. She is actually a stunner. ‘Call me Shane,’ I tell her softly.

She frowns with confusion.

‘Have a seat,’ I invite and pour two stiff measures of brandy.

Walking over to her, I hold out a glass. She accepts it with a murmur of thanks and I notice the sudden change in her body language. She thinks I am coming on to her. Unsure about my intentions, she has reverted to her usual routine. Sweet, really.

I have occasionally dated girls from the club if they’re totally irresistible and they get my ‘have cock will travel’ rules, but generally I prefer not to. It’s bad business all round. I move to my desk and, leaning my butt against the edge, cross my arms over my chest and smile at her.