The Family Firm

Chapter 71

Frankie slowly pulled herself into consciousness and was nearly suffocated by the ache in her body. The pain radiated deep into her bones, and every muscle in her face throbbed as she carefully peeled her eyes open, struggling in the fluorescent light shining overhead. She groaned despite herself, leaning forward only to be stopped by a strain against her wrists. It took her a few moments to realise that they were cable tied to the chair she was sat on.

She jolted awake and gasped at the pain that seared in her veins at the sudden movement. Quickly, she fought against her own exhaustion to open her eyes fully and become aware of her surroundings.

She was in some sort of unfamiliar warehouse. It was mainly empty, outside of a few boxes lining the walls and a solitary barrel standing at the other end. There were lights in what appeared to be age-worn metal cages hanging above her head, which were covered in dust, and the cement floor had a number of dark red stains, which she presumed to be blood.

She was on a chair in the centre of the room, both her wrists and ankles bound to the arms and front legs of the chair, respectively, and she was gagged with some sort of cloth, which was sealed inside her mouth by thick tape. She could feel a large bruise on her forehead, which she didn't remember getting, but she was vaguely aware of being crammed in the boot of a car. And all she could remember before that was . . .

Fuck! Realising the severity of her predicament, she began to panic. Was she going to die? Be tortured? Her heart was racing, her body craving the pills she needed to cope. She couldn't handle this, not after everything she had already been through. And Katie . . . Oh, God, was she all right? And Lenny, was he?

As she struggled and tugged against the bindings, her frustration manifested into tears that dropped onto her flushed cheeks, and she let her head hang forward, feeling defeated. She was going to die, she knew it. She was going to die in some fucking warehouse in the middle of wherever the bloody hell she was.

She'd never see her son again. She'd never see Freddie. With that realisation came a long, painful sob that gripped deep in her lungs and rushed through her entire body.

Suddenly, she heard the sound of a large door being opened behind her, and along with it came the chatter of a number of men. She turned her head over her shoulder the best she could to look at them, her tears halting almost instantly as her fear and panic turned to anger. These were the men that did this to her . . . These were the bastards that hurt Katie and Lenny. They would pay for this. And if Freddie didn't make sure of it, she would.

Mickey McElroy emerged from the centre of the group, flicking a fag-end haphazardly onto the cement as he approached Frankie, smirking as soon as he met her gaze. By the height of him, Franks knew exactly who he was, even though they had never met. He was a dark little man with rat-like eyes and a vicious grin—he looked as nasty as his reputation was, and she stiffened at the thought.

He rounded her and lightly pinched the legs of his trousers in order to kneel ahead of her, though in doing so he managed to look even smaller than he had before. Smiling, he spoke in a thick Northern Irish brogue. 'Do you know who I am?'

Frankie nodded, her face twisted into a scowl the best she could. Mickey went on, speaking slowly and precisely. 'Do you want that rag out o' yer mouth, love?'

Her expression hadn't moved an millimetre, and Mickey grinned, revealing shark-like teeth behind his thin lips as he reached forward and gently grasped one edge of the tape that covered Frankie's maw. Slowly, as if not to hurt her skin, he peeled the tape off, leaving a red rim around her mouth, which he then plucked the damp rag out of. As soon as he did so, Frankie spat directly at his face, leaving a globule of saliva hanging off the corner of his mouth.