Hornet's Nest

---

David

She couldn't be fucking doing this.

When I first woke up, there was no body directly beside me, but I didn't think much of it and dozed off again. Coming to the second time, I looked around the room for her. She was sitting on my desk chair, fully clothed, staring back at me. As if she had been waiting for me to wake up.

There was something alarming about her expression and posture, but I didn't make any sense of the red flag in that moment.

She looked at me as if I was a... thing. Her eyes had no emotion. Her voice was blank, words choreographed.

"I have to go for a couple of days."

"What?" I sat up and pushed the duvet off. "Where?"

"To see my parents."

"Why?"

"Stuff going on. Just need to see them for a couple days."

"Stuff? What stuff?"

A flicker passed over her stoney expression, as though she had said something wrong. She got to her feet and picked up a small backpack. "I'll only be a couple of days. I'm leaving everything else here. I'll be back soon."

"No, wait." I quickly got out of bed, pulling on some boxers.

"What?" she said, hand already on the door handle.

"What's going on? Talk to me."

"No, it's fine."

"Vi."

Her eyes narrowed. "I'm not allowed to see my parents?"

I held my arms out, a spark of frustration building up. "What stuff, Violet? What's going on?"

"It doesn't matter."

She opened the door but I lunged over, grabbing the shoulder of her leather jacket. She froze, her eyes slid to me with a glare. I didn't let go. Her fingers closed painfully around my wrist, like she had no inhibitions of using whatever raw strength her body could muster, and yanked my hand off.

"Get out of my face."

She walked out.

"Hey. Hey!"

I lunged in front of her again, trying to block her way down the stairs. Her eyes were just as empty as before, the glare was something created in her skin and brow. It wasn't her. It was like someone had ripped her personality out, and left a shell.

"You're just gonna do this?" I asked. "Just gonna walk away from me?"

"Yes."

She pushed past me, each step making absolutely no sound as she descended the stairs. I thundered down after her, tried to grab her again. She knocked my arms away with precision, and put both hands on my stomach to shove me back.

"You're gonna make a scene, huh?" she hissed. "Get everybody involved?"

I stared at her in a stunned silence. "Vi..."

"You can't stop me. Don't fucking try. I have to do this, I need to see them."

"Do

what?

Stop, please, Vi, just stop. Fucking talk to me."

"No."

"You can't do this." I took another step forward and she bristled like a snarling animal, backing away from me.

"Get out of my face. For fuck sake, David. Give me some fucking space!"

When her voice rose I froze. She took one last look at me, before turning her back to open the front door. She stepped outside, and slammed it shut behind her.

"David?" Mum's voice asked.

I just stood there in my boxers, staring at the front door, a sickly weight in my stomach.

"What was that?"

"She's... had some argument with her parents, and now she's going to see them."

I felt her warm hand on my shoulder, and my gaze snapped around. She looked confused, also mildly alarmed. I must have been obviously upset. I raked my fingers through my hair.

"She's angry?"

"I think so, yeah."

"Then let her calm down a little. Text her later."

Mum, of course, could sound completely calm and logical. But it wasn't that simple. It... fuck. Violet couldn't go back to that environment. I had no idea what she was going back to. I had no idea what was going on. Mum's hand stroked soothingly over my shoulder but I couldn't accept it. I pulled away, retreating up the stairs.

"Mate?" Wesley asked. "The fuck?"

I ignored him and went straight to my room, but he followed. Shit.

Shit.

Why was this fucking happening? I wanted to get dressed and chase outside after her, but some fear was stopping me. The way she'd looked at me, I felt like she'd leave me forever.

"David. Mate. What was that about?"

I sat on my bed and buried my face into my hands. How had it happened? I had some faint, lingering memory from last night - Violet sitting up in bed, light of her phone's screen on her face. A phonecall? So this was happening, again. She was getting aggressive and weird with me again, because someone was contacting her. Again.

"Dave, for fuck sake." Wesley sat next to me, shoulder and leg against mine.

I looked up at his face. Shit, he was the only person who knew. The only person I could talk to. "She's gone to see her parents."

"Why?"

"I don't know." I ran my fingers through my hair again, gripped the nape of my neck. My eyes were watering. My voice strained. "I don't fucking know. Why won't she talk to me, Wes?"

My chest was tight, it was physically hurting. Seeing her so cold, so empty like that, had shaken me to the core. She could just do that? Switch her affections off overnight? I tried to wipe at my eyes, but the tears kept coming and I couldn't stop it.

Wesley's arm went around my shoulders. "Hey," he whispered. "It's okay."

No, it wasn't.

---

Violet

I needed David out of the way. I couldn't keep him safe if he was going to get involved.

Sure, he would be angry with me, even upset. He'd get over it. I couldn't see him dragged into anything. I'd deal with him, after I'd dealt with this. I couldn't handle more than one thing at a time.

I was paranoid all the way to the station, checking over my shoulder, making sure he wasn't following me. He couldn't understand. He couldn't be safe if he knew. He'd try to stop me.

Maybe knowing his reaction should've been enough to drill some sense into me, but I wasn't thinking. I was back to reacting. Doing whatever I thought I needed to do. Impulses ruling a blank mind.

I could've walked out during the night, just left him a message. But I didn't feel right about that. Somewhere, right at the core that hadn't frozen over yet, I still cared enough to face him as I did this. He deserved that from me, at least. It wasn't his fault that I had ties to this world, but I guess it was his fault for getting involved with me.

I wouldn't let him get himself hurt. That's how I convinced myself that what I was doing was okay.

When trapped in a tunnel vision there wasn't time for doubt.

The wait for the train felt long. The journey felt long. Harold texted me the license plate of my ride, and I looked for it in the station's carpark. The driver was focused on his phone and didn't see me approaching. I ripped open the passenger door and he jumped, eyes shifting to me in a mixture of suspicion and knowledge.

"Lewis?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Aight."

I didn't know him, and he didn't know me. Neither of us were bothered by that.

"Straight to Harold?" he continued.

"Yes."

"Aight." He offered me a toffee from a packet.

I took it. I didn't really know if I was hungry. I didn't know if I was tired. I didn't feel anything.

It was late afternoon when I finally reached Harold's flat. My driver didn't drop me off, he parked and came in with me. He knew the code to the building and had a key for Harold's place.

As usual, where Harold lived looked anywhere close to a crack den. There was clutter and shit everywhere, a lingering smell of being too 'lived in'. The air was almost misty from smoke, or dust, or something.

Two more unfamiliar faces looked around as I stepped in. Harold's voice came from another room, on the phone. I sat myself on the sofa while a guy in an armchair studied me curiously, cigarette hanging from his lips. His appraising eyes moved over me, from head to toe, and I stared back.

"'Ello," he started, with the tone of, 'Who the fuck are you?'

"Vi," Harold said, before I could reply. I swiveled to look over the sofa. "Pretty quick, good job. Are you hungry? Gettin' a Chinese tonight. You," he held some cash out to the guy in the armchair, "go sort it."

He gave me another suspicious look, but got to his feet and obeyed without question.

Harold called someone else up, pacing around the flat while he talked. He was putting out the information I'd given him, seeing if it garnered any interest. In my state of mind, it was an amusing sight. Darren spent a lot of time on the phone, didn't he? Harold was a businessman as well, of a different calibre.

There were more people coming in and out. The bustling environment was familiar, stirring up old memories of being dragged places with my parents. Only, I was alone this time.

Eventually, someone turned up who recognised me. "Hey, it's fuckin' Violet!"

Harold told him, and anybody else, to shut up. "It's her mum 'n dad we're dealing with at the moment."

People from that world could be very grounded, very understanding. They 'got it', and left me alone. I had every right to be uptight. Everyone knew what a rough patch was like. Many of them didn't know me, but they knew my parents.

Harold could be a funny, round little man, yet everybody did as he said. Younger, fitter men trod on eggshells around him, happy to engage in a bit of banter and quickly shutting up when he gave them the look. That was what happened when someone held a renowned rank within a hierarchy.

Somewhere between 5-6pm, dinner arrived. People crowded around to share out the mountains of Chinese brought in paper bags. The smell made me hungry, but after a few mouthfuls I was full, mostly poking at things with my plastic spork. The bustling finally relaxed, the coming and going stopped, and everyone just sat down to smoke, drink, or do whatever. It was a day in the life. My parents were simply potentially dying in the background.

"Harold," I started. "How old are you? Fifty?"

The room filled with boisterous laughs as he gave me his toothless grin. "Why, flower?"

"How long you been doing this? Thirty years?"

"Maybe longer."

"I was wondering if you'd remember someone by description. Someone who used to be in, a while ago."

Harold frowned at me. "What, did they die?"

"No, they quit."

"A deserter, nice." He held a cigarette between his lips, lighting it up. "Are you expectin' me to chase up on this, or something?"

"No."

"John's memory's always been sharper than mine. You can try, girl."

"He's a big guy. You know, not fat, just big. Six-four, or something. He came from Birmingham, he sorta looks like a Paki, you know?" There were more chuckles. "Seriously, I don't know how else to explain. Black hair, green eyes, real rough and mean-looking. He was a fighter."

"A Brummie," Harold said. "See, I don't know anybody from up north. Other than your dad."

"Brum ain't 'north'," another guy chipped. "It's midlands."

"Boy, anythin' beyond Oxford is 'north' to me."

Someone cracked a beer open into more laughter.

"Hey, girl," that same guy continued. "I'm not being funny, but I think I might know who you mean. Not

know-know,

but what you're sayin', I've heard before."

I perked up at the chance of my curiosity being sated. "Yeah?"

"This guy you know, what's his name?"

"Zack. I don't know what he went by back then. He's like, forty. He was in when he was a teenager, early twenties."

The guy looked thoughtful for a moment.

"Don't 'urt yerself," someone else quipped.

"Man, shut up. I know someone, who talked about someone that sounds similar, aight? He called him 'Amir', I think. From what he said, this guy, he was like a fuckin' Rottweiler. He could fuck up anybody."

I smirked. Yeah, that sounded enough like Zack. I wasn't going to get a definite answer, though. '

My mate knew

' stories were always unreliable, embellished pieces of shit.

"Why'd he quit?" someone asked.

"He went to uni like me," I replied, taking another mouthful of my beer. That got more laughter and bantering out of them, but I didn't feel anything towards to it. I'm not sure what I was expecting the alcohol to do. I was already numb.

*

Harold's hand shook me awake from my unconscious state on his sofa.

"Sweetie, up, up."

I rubbed my eyes and rolled onto my stomach. "What."

"The name, it's worked."

I stared at the mess of beer cans on the floor. "Yeah?"

"We got their fuckin' attention. The market. You're going to see someone this afternoon."

"Fuck." I pushed up on an arm, brushing hair behind my ear.

"Get showered, get yourself presentable. This is serious, Vi."

I was lucky I didn't have a hangover. I was just stiff and groggy, feeling sick from inhaling so much second-hand smoke. And maybe a bit sick from the beer. I didn't really like beer. Don't know why I drank it.

I dragged myself to his bathroom, gazed into the mirror, and surprised myself by how pale I was. I looked ill. It made my freckles stand out more than normal. Did it make me look cute? Was that a good thing?

I showered fast, changed into fresh clothes from my backpack. Harold knocked while I was brushing my hair.

"Yeah," I said.

He came in, grabbed my chin, turned my head. "No makeup. The younger you look, the better."

"Yeah?" I didn't like him touching me.

"Yeah."

"Who am I meeting?"

"They're being vague, you understand? Got location and details. You better handle this, flower."

"I will."

He handed me a flip knife. "Just in case, yeah?"

I slipped it into my pocket and didn't reply.

There was barely time for me eat, but I couldn't stomach it anyways. I managed two mouthfuls of toast before that same driver from the previous day turned up to take me somewhere. He had such a bored face, and looked at his phone too much. Harold gave him strict directions and instructions.

My number was given to whoever I was meeting. It was a bright, sunny day, and I was dumped out onto the street in a busy public space, outside the town's main shopping centre. The leather jacket was going to get uncomfortably hot very quickly. I glanced around, pulled my phone out, and leant against a wall to look busy.

I had a text from David. "Gonna talk to me yet?"

No, not yet.

My eyes automatically shifted around again. So much for inconspicuous. But I wasn't nervous, I was incapable of feeling anything. There was simply that mild curiosity. I had no idea what was going on, what was about to happen to me. I was disobeying Dad's orders, in the hope that doing so might save his sorry arse.

Before long my phone rang. I gave it a blank stare, swiped the screen, and held it to my ear. "Hello?"

"Miss Lewis?"

"Yes."

"I think I see you. Step out a bit, yeah?"

I did so, moving away from the wall, towards the road.

"All good, lass. Turn right."

The voice had a tang of an accent, but I couldn't quite place it.

"Yes, you're looking at me."

I could see the white of a shirt through the windscreen of a car, pulled up on the curb. Sunlight reflections obscured the face. A hand briefly lifted in acknowledgement, then the call ended.

I covered the distance. Had that car been there the whole time, watching me arrive? I hadn't noticed it parking itself otherwise. I opened the passenger door and peered inside. The man beckoned, so I climbed in.

My second time getting into a car with strangers in two days. Be proud, Mum.

The cabin was pretty nice. Fancy dashboard, leather seats. My host patiently waited for me to shut the door, but didn't offer me a handshake. He had one elbow leant up on the back of his seat, the other hand idly on the wheel. He studied me. Intently.

He wore simple black trousers with that shirt, the top two buttons undone. His age was hard to determine. Not that old, not that young. His sleeves were rolled up to show sturdy forearms, the stubble on his jaw might've been showing signs of greying.

"You're with the market?" I asked. "You work for 'Driscoll'?"

"Yes."

There was another short silence. "Are you taking me somewhere, or am I talking to you?"

"You're talking to me."

Something about his demeanour told me he was high ranking. He wasn't some chauffeur grunt. The accent was bothering me - so diluted it was indistinguishable, yet just about there, catching slightly on his words.

He started the engine, watching the busy road for a few seconds before turning out onto it, then started the car's air conditioning.

"My first question for you, lass, quite naturally. How do you know our Mister Sörensen?"

My answer almost sounded stupid, yet it was nothing but the blunt truth. "I'm dating his nephew."

"Interesting... And why did you decide to contact us with this name?"

"My father told me it has enemies. You have my parents. You want two-hundred grand for their release. I don't have two-hundred grand."

"I see your logic."

I stared at the side of his face. His nose had a little bump in its bridge. "What's happened to my parents?"

"They're alive."

"Are they hurt?"

"Yes, I'm afraid. They put up quite a fight and had to be subdued."

"How hurt?"

"I don't believe they'll be dying overnight."

I averted my gaze to the window, wondering what I was supposed to be feeling, even thinking.

"Lass," he started. "The lord of your little drug gang has been giving me issues for a while. I've been looking forward to an excuse to knock him down a notch. You'll have to offer me something very good to change my mind."

"It's

not

my gang," I replied. "I want nothing to do with them. I'm here for my parents."

He removed his eyes from the road to give me a brief glance.

"You can go to war with them for all I care. Do whatever you want. Just give me my parents."

"Yeah," he said. "I can respect that. Family's important, eh?"

"They're all I have."

"Family's very important to me, also. But what about Sörensen? Isn't he family to you? How close are you with this boyfriend of yours?"

"I... don't know what Sörensen's done to have enemies," I carefully replied. "I imagine he's not a saint. His business isn't my business."

The man pulled the car over, stopping so he could look around and study me, not caring if I held his gaze or not. "Am I understanding, that if this should cause some... wedge, in your personal life, you are already aware of it? That you're choosing your parents over your boyfriend here, girl?"

I swallowed. "Yes." His questions forced me to think, however briefly, and I felt a faint crack in my resolve, but I ignored it. I needed to see this through.

"You're very calm," he probed.

"I don't want to do something wrong, that's going to get my parents killed." The more plain and biddable he thought I was, the easier this would be.

He nodded, and gently steered the car back onto the road. "Fancy yourself pragmatic? Realistic?"

"I guess."

"You're not what I'd expect out of a drug gang. You speak well, for one."

I shrugged. "I'm at university."

"A student, eh? Well done, lass."

I looked out the window again. "Where are you taking me? To Driscoll?"

"He's right here."

Shit. I almost swiveled to check the backseat, like a fucking idiot, but made do with a glance at the rearview mirror. I frowned at him while it sunk in, felt my head shake. "Why?" I asked.

He knew what I meant. What if I was dangerous, had other motives? His thin lips curved with a smirk, but he didn't look at me. "This has been quite a surprise. I had a carrot with 'Sörensen' written on it, dangled in front of me. Out of nowhere, it seemed. Unrelated to anything at all. It's quite a personal matter."

The Driscoll name held a lot of weight. He must've been filthy rich, infamous as hell, dealing in all sorts of illegal trades. There I was, sitting next to him in a car, trying reach some sort of compromise about letting my parents go. I could've just been dealing with a lieutenant or something. Nope, how about an actual Driscoll.

Fucking. Hell.

Impulses screamed to open the car door and get out. I didn't know what the fuck I was doing. What I was supposed to do.