Chapter 1

Friday 23 May

A White BMW screeched to a halt outside the Emergency Room of the Los Angeles County General. The night had brought with it a torrential rainstorm. Inside, Marcus Donnelly bald and well-built, sat breathlessly at the wheel, his energy all but spent; cuts and grazes about his face.

"Sorry man, I gotta dump you."

In the back was Malcolm Willis, his wounds leaking blood all over the once immaculate leather seats. Marcus looked to the right to see orderlies roll a stretcher towards them whilst battling the rain.

"Just listen to me quick..." he continued, "No visitors. No phone calls. I'll be in touch. You saved my life back there. I owe you everything. But don't forget who you killed and what it now means. This isn't over."

Malcolm coughed and spluttered. Then the door opened, and the harsh reality of the night flooded in along with the yell of nurses and paramedics.

"What happed here?" one yelled.

They began to help Malcolm out. Marcus didn't look or answer any of their questions. As soon as Malcolm was on the stretcher he stamped down on the accelerator and was gone. They hadn't had time to see his face. It wasn't his car. They couldn't trace anything back to him.

Now all he could hope for was that Malcolm survived.

‘I had thought it so cool to be a part of these people. Part of their world. It was something I had always dreamt of. Yet part of who I am, who my father was and the respect my family had gained over the years, had kept me just shy of realising my dream. And for a moment there, it was so sweet. Sweet that is until I landed in hospital, unable to walk and on a life support machine; its agonising bleep-bleep like a time bomb waiting to take me out. Maybe some dreams are just meant to stay that way.'

Malcolm lay in a hospital bed. Steel pins had been placed where bullets had half shattered the bone. Police had been and gone, their questions left unanswered but their interest still evident. He had even made the headlines, a matter not helped by his father being a respected high court Judge. Yet Malcolm had always strived to distance himself from the media interest surrounding his family. He secretly coveted the more dangerous side of life - so recently given a face due to his dealings with Marcus Donnelly. It was part of the reason the hospital had been his home for the past six weeks.

The door of the private hospital room opened, and a young black nurse he had taken a liking to, peered in.

"There's somebody here to see you, Mr Willis. Shall I tell them the same as ever?" she said.

A TV up on the wall was playing early morning kids cartoons, something Japanese and annoying, but he had been staring at it for the past ten minutes.

"No. It's alright, Nina...who is it?"

"Some lady. Says she's your sister."

‘I had refused visitors. I wasn't entirely sure why I had not let at least my family see me like this. Perhaps it was something to do with my ego, how maybe I didn't want them to see me defeated. I had felt mixed up and confused for too long; paranoid of where all this was leading.'

Malcolm nodded, and the nurse disappeared. In the brief few seconds he had alone, he sat up and switched the TV off with a remote. Then the door opened wide, and he looked over to see Patricia enter.

"So what's changed?" she asked, hands on hips, wearing pink Levis and a pale blue t-shirt. She was tall and had long flowing fair hair.

Malcolm was the eldest of three; Patricia was 28 in February, kid sister Cameron approaching 23 and himself the wrong side of 32.

"What do you mean?" he answered.

"It's been weeks and now you let me see you? What's the big idea?"

"If I was dead you'd have been told."

"That's not what I mean and you know it. We all wanted to see you. You got really hurt. What happened?"

Malcolm glanced back to the TV, almost wanting it to still be on, for an excuse to avoid making eye contact. He smirked.

"I fucked with the wrong guys, and I ended up here. Simple as."

"It was something to do with Cameron, wasn't it? And Marcus. I knew you going into business with that thug was going to mean trouble. What gives?" Patricia retorted, and came and sat down in a chair beside the bed. She was angry, but her eyes told him she was also concerned.

"Have you asked Cameron?" he asked.

"Only every day. She says you weren't involved. She was just going through a bad time and had to get away. I can't believe a word that girl says anymore."

"She was going through a rough deal. But if she doesn't want to give details, you won't hear it from me."

Patricia sighed, bowing her head so her hair hung down to her lap. Then she brushed it back over her scalp and sat back again, crossing one leg over the other.

"Father wasn't happy about the media interest. It's exposed your partnership with Marcus and hinted at his connection to organised crime. I think you better get out of this whole thing as soon as you can."

"Think I didn't know what I was getting myself into? That's what I wanted. The lifestyle, the danger, the reputation."

"You already had a good reputation. Why risk everything you have?"

"Only what has been given to me on a plate. This is the first thing I have done that really meant something."

"And it nearly got you killed. Tell me what happened, Malcolm - please!"

Malcolm so wanted to tell his sister everything, about Cameron, about Marcus, Justine and Mr Leone. But he had also grown up knowing that what you don't know they can't get out of you with a pair of wire cutters to your little pinkie. Hopefully it wasn't going to come to that - but still, he had taken enough risks just letting Patricia see him.

‘Patricia didn't stay long. I guess it was because I didn't return the answers she needed. It was good to see her again, but I had come to realise that the further away I was from my family the better it was all round. I had already waited too long.'