Free The Villain’s Daughter by Roberta Kray Page A

banged up.
    Danny Street shoved his face into Albert’s and glared at him. ‘You never ’eard of loyalty, arsehole? You betrayed him. Dad told you to keep her away from her. And what did you do?’
    Albert shrank back, taking refuge in repetition. ‘It weren’t like that. It weren’t. I were only playin’ her along. I never told her nuthin’ important.’
    ‘So what did you tell her?’
    A series of sharp stabbing pains rolled up Albert’s arm and through his chest. His breathing felt shallow and constricted. While he struggled to reply, Danny turned his attention to the room again.
    ‘You hear about people dying in dumps like this. Not being found for weeks, months even. Getting eaten by cats and all. You got a cat?’ He pulled a mock sympathetic face. ‘Ah, shit no. You ain’t got no one, have you, Weasel? No friends, nuthin’. No one gives a fuck about you. You could be rotting here for years before the council finally turn up to collect the rent. Although I suppose the smell might eventually bother the neighbours.’ He gave a light shrug of his shoulders. ‘But then again, would they notice the difference? You’ve been stinking out the place for the past twenty years.’
    Albert had one last chance and he had to make the most of it. He took a deep breath and heaved the words out. ‘Lizzie only wanted to know about the girl.’
    Danny stared back at him. He looked genuinely baffled. ‘What are you talking about? What fuckin’ girl?’
    Until this point Albert hadn’t been certain about how much Danny knew, but now the answer was clear - sod all! He didn’t have a clue. This simple fact not only revived his courage, but also gave him the leverage he needed, something to bargain with. His hopes immediately revived. There was still a chance of getting out of this with his skull intact. For the first time that evening, a tentative smile found its way on to his lips. ‘Ain’t Terry mentioned her?’
    ‘You’re talking shite,’ Danny said. His eyes were beginning to blaze again. ‘Why should he be arsed about some bloody girl?’
    ‘For the same reason Lizzie was.’
    Danny took a threatening lunge forward. ‘Meaning?’
    Albert jumped back, his spine pressing hard against the wall. He was too old, too tired for this kind of stuff. Even in his youth he’d relied entirely on his wits. His voice leapt up an octave or two. ‘You’ll never find out if you don’t listen, son.’
    Danny’s face crunched into indecision. His instinctive urge was to try to beat it out of him, but some remaining seed of rationality held him back. A dead Jenks wouldn’t be able to talk. Instead, he bared his teeth, wrapped his fingers around Albert’s throat and spat out an order: ‘Tell me!’
    ‘Let go of me first.’
    Danny’s fingers tightened for a second, but then gradually loosened again. ‘Start talkin’, you pathetic streak of piss or I’ll put yer fuckin’ head through the window.’
    Albert moved away from the wall, rubbing resentfully at his throat. He staggered over to the armchair and stood behind it. It might not offer much protection, but at least it was something. He stared at Danny. How Terry had managed to spawn such an ignorant piece of scum was beyond him. Terry Street was a bastard, there was no disputing that, but he’d always been a charming bastard.
    ‘Well?’ Danny snarled.
    Albert’s tongue snaked out and made a fast circuit of his dry, cracked lips. He wasn’t sure how much to say. Too little and Danny would squash him like a bug, too much and he would have Terry to answer to. ‘It’s to do with your Liam, ain’t it?’
    At the mention of his dead brother, Danny’s face grew even harder. ‘What about him?’
    Albert quickly shook his head. ‘I can’t say more than that. Talk to yer old man. He’ll tell you. He’ll put you straight.’
    ‘And how am I supposed to do that? Give him a bell? In case it’s slipped your mind, he’s not staying in a fuckin’ hotel!’
    As