Dauntless (The LockDown Series Book 2) Read online

  DAUNTLESS

  Copyright© 2016 Shannon Dobson

  Published by Shannon Dobson

  All Rights reserved. Author holds all rights to this work. Any copying, selling or sharing of the work without consent is illegal, legal action will be taken if these conditions are broken.

  Acknowledgements

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  About the Author

  Excerpt from Baby Mine

  I would like to express my upmost gratitude to a fantastic friend who has slaved away editing Total LockDown for me. Nicola Rhead you are a star and one in a million, I wouldn’t be where I am without you.

  My thanks go to all the of the girls on my street team, you are all amazing and I love you all for the continuous support you give me.

  Lastly I would like to thank my family and boyfriend for once again putting up with my compulsion to write, write, write. I could never thank you all enough for never standing in my way and always encouraging my ideas and creativity. I love you all with my entire heart.

  This world is never long enough for one person. Recently I discovered an old friend, from school is suffering with the hideous disease we all know as cancer. He is my own age, twenty-one. He is having his second lot of brain surgery and telling cancer to go do one. I want everyone to join in with him and the entire world to kick cancers arse.

  Reece Hawley, you are truly a warrior of this world. People may box, people may fight wars, but above them all you are the real hero and survivor, you hold the strength within you that none of us are even privy too. I will admire you till the day I cease to live. There will never be a day that passes that I won't think of how incredible you are, how determined and strong you are.

  I have known and lost some of my closest friends to cancer, but none of them have the willpower you do. Nothing seems to knock you down.

  There aren’t enough words in the English vocabulary to express my gratitude to you, someone who doesn't give up, doesn’t use any excuse to live their lives. You prove to us all, no matter who you are, how well you are or how rich you are, there is a life to live.

  This book is dedicated to you. To everything you are and everything you will continue to be.

  Reece, your own hero, the world’s hero, MY hero.

  Shannon Dobson

  “In order to succeed,

  Your desire for success

  Should be greater than your fear of failure.”

  -Bill Cosby

  Leighton

  I’m sat in my car and the heater is blowing full force onto my face. The chill outside, icing the pavement up, is trying its hardest to break through the metal casing of my Bentley. My very core is cold, frost bitten and frozen over. My heart is pounding an unsteady rhythm against my ribcage, every pound of it penetrating my eardrums, another reminder of the anger inside of me. I can feel the metal grip of my beloved glock, digging into my back as I’m thrown back into the chair from the sheer power of my car.

  My foot is pushed fully to the carpeted floor, the speedometer soaring as every painful second ticks by. The dingy brick buildings of London are dissipating into the beautiful, green rolling hills of Surrey. These are hills I once found warming and homely, now just tormenting reminders of what awaits for me. The very thought of walking back into my home and seeing her there, holding my beautiful, innocent baby girl in her arms, makes me physically sick. If Melissa wasn’t the spitting image of me, intense green eyes and a mop of dark blonde hair, then I wouldn’t even believe she was mine. If Abigail is able to fuck the man that nearly killed her, our daughter and my best friend, then I was clearly mistaken about the kind of woman she is.

  I keep praying to God, that there is some simple explanation, that this is just one fucked up misunderstanding or even maybe a terrible dream. I hope somehow that Abigail’s image had been manipulated into those recordings, but the more I think about that being the answer, the more I realise how naïve and stupid I was.

  How fucking selfish is she? After everything I have given her, everything I’ve done for her, she throws everything back into my face so easily.

  Those violent thoughts from earlier still filter through my brain. Phillip or Abigail? Who did I seriously want to take all of this anger out on? Phillip had gone too far, as usual, but Abigail had committed the biggest betrayal I deem feasible. To top it off, not only did she fuck the prick, but she did it with MY child inside of her blossoming stomach.

  I shake my head to clear it, to give myself some control over everything.

  I don’t really want to kill Abbi. Sure, the thought makes me feel fantastic, fucking ecstatic in fact; I feel the anger strong enough to pursue it right now. I know I’d feel closure and a little better by putting a bullet in the pair of them, but I know I’d regret killing her, she is the mother of my child after all, and other than that blip with screwing Phillip, she was a damn good mum.

  I really don’t know how I am supposed to deal with this overdrive of feelings and thoughts of her right now; I don’t want to see her ever again. Just thinking of her makes my heart ache something fierce, it may as well be on the road beneath my tyres, the burning rubber squashing over it and leaving it in a bloody pile, like it feels in my chest cavity now.

  The only option I have right now, to save myself further heartache, is pay Phillip a little visit. The prick won’t even know what hit him, or shot him I should say.

  Right now, I have no worries to my safety, if he shoots me first, kills me in cold blood, it will be easier and less painful to me, than what I am feeling right now.

  I don’t want the guys in on this one, even though I know full well they’ll kick my arse for making them miss out on an opportunity to get creative with Phillip, but I don’t need them seeing me so weak over somebody else, to know that somebody has affected me so severely my life meant nothing anymore.

  I wish I had listened to Scott a little more. I repeatedly think back to the time he had treated Abbi like a piece of meat, talked to her like all she was good for was a hole to shove his cock into. Maybe if I had followed his tactics, as well as my own usual form of attack and just fucked the shit out of her, like the slut she clearly is, I wouldn’t be in this situation right now. I wouldn’t be risking my own life by going in without backup, just so I can have the satisfaction of looking into Phillip’s eyes as I splatter his head over the walls of his immaculate office.

  I know, with one hundred percent certainty, if I was to go to Abigail right now, I won’t be able to control myself. Abbi knows of one of my identities, the one I want her to see, the one
that’s not really who I am. I have wined and dined her, treated her like a princess, hidden the nasty and malicious side of me as much as I could. She has no clue as to how many people I have killed, men and women alike, it doesn’t matter, if there’s a job and I’m paid the right money then my glock is willing to part with a round or two. She doesn’t know of the thrill and pleasure I get out of seeing the blood drain from their petrified faces and how much I enjoy doing what I do.

  Abigail has no clue whatsoever, that every day when I come home from work, where she thought I was doing paperwork, I was actually in the field, with my men, or some of them at least, killing anyone who fucked with me, anyone who got in my way or interfered with the job at hand. She doesn’t even know that the real reason I am not in contact with my family is because they refuse to associate with me, associate with the raging psychopath I cover up so easily.

  I have never once delayed in pulling the trigger or plunging a knife into someone’s carotid artery, and I haven’t once regretted or thought twice about it afterwards. Then I go home, clean myself off, and fuck my beautiful woman like the good little slut I now know her to be.

  I put my thumb to the control on my steering wheel, turning the CD player up loud to an ear splitting level. If an ambulance or cop car is behind me, wanting to pass, I won’t hear the sirens, and do you know what, I couldn’t give a shit, not in the damn slightest. Guns ‘n’ Roses ‘Welcome to the Jungle’ is playing through the speakers, penetrating my body, causing me to head-bang to the bass drum.

  I am closing in on the slip road for the industrial area in which Phillip’s office is. He is a sneaky bastard for sure, trying to hide his little business venture away from prying eyes. But I’m not a total idiot, I have done my homework, well Thomas has done it for me. I know where every one of his men live, where they work, how much money and property they have and even how many fucking kids they have, including those hidden away from their wives.

  The thumping in my heart has slowed down and is now tattooing a steady rhythm against my sternum. I have concluded what I will do with Abbi. She is fucking off, I will buy her a house. Sure, I wasn’t about to leave my child without a home, but the girl is gone. I don’t want her anywhere near me.

  So, with one down and one to go, I take the third exit on the roundabout off the arterial road, and follow the country lane towards the industrial estate off Sycamore Street.

  I can clearly see the huge sign for where I’m entering, most of the buildings for sale or just scrubbed off. As I park my car into a nice big space outside his office entrance, next to the huge shutters, I turn the ignition off. The normal sense of excitement and animalistic adrenalin kicks in, the sadistic smile frames my face like a damn Cheshire cat. I take in a deep breath and rub my hands up and down the contours on the surface.

  I take my keys from the ignition and exit the car into the dark winter night. The fresh, crisp air inflates my lungs and stimulates me. I walk to the back of my car, popping the boot open to reveal the beautiful leather case inside. I rub my hand over the smooth surface. God I love this thing.

  I click it open and inside sits my guns. Pristine, polished and much needed. I remove two of them, sliding the clips into place and cocking them ready. I slide one into the leg strap around my calf and the other in the holster beside my ribs. The one in the back of my trousers still sits readily.

  God they feel so good, the weight giving me a sense of pride in my work. I thoroughly enjoy ridding this god-forsaken world of the vermin that lies around. Within a few minutes, another wanker, hopefully more, will bite the dust.

  I close the case, clipping the locks back into place and close the boot of my car with a nice loud slam. My fingers press firmly on the key fob, illuminating the barren car park with orange lights.

  I don’t bother making a sneaky entrance, I don’t need an advantage. I pull the metal handle of the glass main door and yank it open. The clean scent of disinfectant and bleach hits my nostrils.

  My only thought, as I walk past the empty main desk, towards the lit corridor is ‘the stupid fuck has an unattended reception’ and ‘I can’t wait to smell the copper tinge in the air as I leave through this very corridor.’

  Abigail

  I am worried, sick to my stomach with an unnerving feeling that something is wrong. He is never home late, especially now Melissa is here. I would at least expect him to text or ring me just to let me know where he is and when he’ll be home.

  He knows how much I worry for him, with his job being what it is and with Phillip and his gang of animals still alive and breathing. Every second of every day he isn’t home with me, I repeatedly look at the clock on the wall, constantly check my phone and the news for any sign that something awful has happened to him.

  After my horrible failed attempt at calling a truce with Phillip three months ago, I have become anxious and panicky as a result. I know, deep down somewhere inside of me, that what I had thought would help may have actually made this whole fucked up situation worse. I am sitting around waiting for the day that they hit back at us again.

  Our daughter Melissa is growing so quickly. She is the most precious and perfect thing I have ever seen in my entire life. She sleeps impeccably well during the night, leaving time for Leighton and me. Our relationship has continued to strengthen over the two months since her birth. He is persistent with his romantic gestures, bringing home flowers, chocolate or wine, now that I wasn’t pregnant.

  I am undoubtedly the luckiest woman alive. I have the most amazing fiance on earth, the most gorgeous little girl, who continues to develop and advance at a good pace and a network of family who are supportive and unconditionally loving.

  I am pacing around the kitchen, Melissa attached to me feeding. I know I should be sitting down to stop her from getting air through with the milk, but I can’t. I pick my phone up from the side and dial the one person I know who might have a clue as to where Leighton is.

  “Hey, sexy milf, you ‘kay?” Jesus, why does he insist on calling me that? It does nothing but make me hotter for him. We haven’t managed to do what we both have been craving for since our little foursome and it is frustrating me to no end.

  “Hello, Antonio, have you heard from or seen Leighton at all today?” I lace my voice with worry and angst, so he knows not to joke around right now.

  “I saw him at the restaurant around three, but I had to leave early because the kids are staying at ours tonight. Have you tried ringing him?” Antonio has become like a father to those three children, he loves them like they are his own kids.

  “I have, but there is no answer at all, just goes straight to voicemail. I’m seriously worried Ant, what if he’s hurt or worse? Oh God, I feel sick.” I am concocting all sorts of things up in my head, my imagination running a little wild and making me want to spew all over the kitchen floor tiles.

  “Babe, stay calm. I’ll find the fucker, I always do. Do you want Debbie to pop over?” he asks me sweetly.

  “No, it’s okay. Just find him Ant, I can’t lose him.” I am acting as though he is already gone. I have to remember that he is still living and breathing; he is still here with me. There was no way that Leighton would let himself depart from this earth without me knowing and letting him go.

  “Okay, sweetheart, just look after that little girl and I’ll bring him home soon, okay? And have some dinner ready for me sweetness.” I roll my eyes at his requests, men and their bloody stomachs.

  “Of course, I know you too well, Antonio Little. Now find him please.”

  “Chat soon, Princess.” He hangs up the phone leaving me a little less anxious. If I know Ant like I think I do, then he will hunt this earth day and night to bring him home safe and well. There is no way he would stop searching until he finds Leighton.

  “Your silly daddy needs to learn to answer his phone, doesn’t he Princess?” I speak to my daughter as her eyelids lay closed tightly, no way for any light to filter through them. Her gentle
snores and the rising of her chest indicate her post feed sleep.

  Like all babies, when their tummies are full, sleep overtakes them instinctively. Her thick blonde hair upon her head is soft against my bare chest, her warm breaths soothe my frozen feeling skin.

  “Come on baby girl, off to bed for you.” I switch her to the opposite arm, replacing my breast back into my bra.

  I walk through the kitchen, into the huge long hallway running through the mansion. I climb the grand staircase to her nursery. Every time I come into this room, I can’t stop the fluttering feeling in my stomach and the warming in my heart. Leighton had made this room perfect for me, accurate to my every dream.

  I place her still tiny body into her cot, covering her with her soft blanket and kissing the top of her mop of hair. “Sleep well, Angel.” I switch the baby monitor on and take mine downstairs with me.

  Arriving back in the kitchen, I retrieve a bottle of scotch from the cupboard, pouring myself a full glass rather than a slosh. The burn I feel through my entire body, as the liquid seeps its way down my throat and into my stomach, does nothing to settle the anxiety that has once again risen. I can feel myself beginning to panic, my breathing shortening and becoming sharp. The glass in my hand is almost crushing under the death grip I have on it.

  I search desperately through the cupboard in the kitchen for the medication I have come to need like the air around me. I have become accustomed to popping one or two clonazepam in order to relieve the state I’d find myself in when something didn’t sit right. Unfortunately, that is becoming more and more often the case.

  I find the blister of tablets in the medicine cupboard and pop two out onto my hand. I look down at them with regret as I lift them to my mouth and swallow them down whole with the scotch.

  I am so thankful that Melissa has shown no sign of her own addiction, but I can’t survive without them right now. I need them. Leighton has no clue I have become as addicted as I have, in fact he doesn’t even know I still take them.