The Jade Garden (The Barrington Patch Book 2) by Emmy Ellis (reading diary txt) 📗

listened solemnly to Li Jun’s story about how he’d come to run the Jade, and thankfully, he hadn’t admonished him for taking such a huge risk. The tiny town they’d grown up in offered no prospects, and coming to the UK had always been their goal, brothers together in a quest for riches. Li Jun had cooked food on the market there, his rickety stall made from planks of splinter-riddled wood, his gas stove, spatula, and one wok his sole equipment. Their mother had taught him her special recipes, and to create such food and sell it in the takeaway was his dream becoming reality.

“It is a good life,” Zhang Wei said. “We are doing wrong but for the right reasons. With Mother and Father dead now, we have nothing in China anymore.” He gestured around the kitchen. “We will teach my Jiang and Yenay, and your child when it arrives. We will have a family empire. I plan to open a shop of my own one day.”

Li Jun smiled at the thought of the baby in Nuwa’s belly. It would be raised alongside Jiang and Yenay, and hopefully, another would soon follow. Li Jun loved his brother and wanted his unborn child to also have a sibling.

That those children would one day understand exactly what the ‘family empire’ entailed was a sour taste on the back of his tongue—but one he’d continue to sup in order to live the life they’d always wanted.

Money and security trumped all, it seemed.

He could only pray it wouldn’t be their downfall. Greed was a sin.

Chapter Eleven

In the gnaw-at-your-cheeks cold, snow falling, the wind whooping between fence slats, Cassie and Jason stood in the yard behind the laundrette, staring up at the lit window, the curtains open. A shadow had flitted past when she’d knocked, but so far, Helen hadn’t deigned to answer. It got Cassie’s back up, that did, and she gritted her teeth. It was too late to be fucking about, and she wanted to question Helen then go home to tell Mam what had gone on. She also had to update the latest ledger, adding her father’s code words to keep a record of tonight’s events.

“She’s probably off her face,” Cassie muttered and whacked the door again. She bent to open the letterbox—bloody odd to have one, when to get into the yard they’d had to go down an alley then climb over the fence. The gate bolt was too far down for Jason to reach his hand over. She couldn’t see the postman doing that on the daily. “Helen, it’s Cassie Grafton. Fucking open up. Now.”

“I’ll break in if she doesn’t come down, shall I?” Jason sounded weary, as pissed off as her, and no wonder, they’d put in a full day’s work then had their evening and a few hours of sleep stolen by this load of bollocks.

“Yep. Mam owns the place, so whatever, I’ll arrange to have the damage fixed.” What was a door compared to Jiang’s life?

A minute of tense waiting later, footsteps thudded in an uneven pattern, and Cassie bent once again to peer through the letterbox, shifting her hair aside as it’d draped itself across her face. A light snapped on, a low-watt bulb but enough to see well enough. A pair of bare feet appeared, bunions as adornments, then shins in skinny blue denims, and the rest of the body followed, ending with scrunched features. Helen looked tired, gaunt, and in need of a holiday. Had she been involved and this evening had taken it out of her? Worry would do that, especially if you were going against a Grafton. Sleepless nights and hiding out was sensible, so how come she was here to open the door?

Stupid bint.

The chain scraped, then the door creaked wide, the base shuddering against the lino floor. Helen stared at them, the glow from the bare bulb above her head casting a spot of yellow on her greying brown hair, showing up her parting and some wayward flakes of dandruff hanging around for the duration. Her eyes were glazed, and she swayed. “The takings aren’t due yet.”

Cassie resented her sullen tone. “I’m not here about the fucking takings. Get inside. We need to talk.” She barged her out of the way and entered, wedging herself against the left wall of the small hallway.

Helen staggered back to the opposite wall, her hand to her chest in shock—and maybe a little fear creeping in. Cassie ignored her and waited for Jason to enter.

“Go and check we’re alone,” Cassie told him. “Who knows if she’s got some lowlife up there.”

Jason trudged up the stairs, scowling, pushing open one side of his jacket, probably to take his gun from the holster. He glanced over his shoulder—to check if he was allowed to use it, she reckoned—and she nodded.

Cassie eyed Helen, who gave her a filthy look, one she’d regret if she kept on.

“Stop staring at me like that. I’ll wipe that snark right off your fucking face in a minute, then we’ll see who’s really got a set of balls. Now go up there so we can chat.” Cassie pointed to the stairs, the urge to kick Helen’s arse rising inside her. Beating the woman up might come later, though, if she didn’t give them the information they needed—if Cassie didn’t believe her story.

Helen lurched off the wall. “Comes to something when you’re badgered in your own home.”

She stumbled up the steps, and Cassie nudged the door to. She wanted it ajar in case she needed to call reinforcements. One of the lads who specialised in torturing people lived over the road with his mam. Normally she’d use Jason, but he was dead on his feet and could just about use that gun of his.

Cassie followed her up, and they congregated in a nice enough living room that faced the