Jonny Parsons felt trapped. He just stood there like a fool, unable to talk or move.
Michael was looking at the man who had slept with his young daughter, his only child. He wasn’t impressed with what he was seeing; in fact, he was disgusted. Jonny Parsons was forty if he was a day, his hair was cut like a teenager’s, he was dressed in cheap knock-offs – even the man’s Rolex was a cheap imitation.
Worst of all was that Jonny Parsons was without any kind of decency. The man was a complete and utter coward. Yet his daughter had taken this man into her bed. It galled him that she could lower herself to this level.
He poked his finger hard into the man’s chest, making him lose his balance once more. He could feel the terror coming off him in waves, and he was glad. At least he had reason to let the man know what he truly thought of him.
‘I’m looking for my daughter, Jessie Flynn. I assume you remember her? Do you know where she is?’
Jonny Parsons’ mouth was so dry he wasn’t sure if he could actually form any words.
Michael was enjoying every second of Jonny’s discomfort, and he bellowed into his face suddenly, ‘Are you fucking deaf? You useless cunt! I just asked you a fucking question.’
Jonny Parsons was shaking his head in denial, wondering how he had ever thought that, by using Jessie Flynn as a stepping stone, he could have somehow gained an entry into this man’s world. He must have been off his head to have even contemplated it.
‘No, Mr Flynn, I swear to you. I haven’t seen her since last week.’
Michael sighed. The man was a fucking complete imbecile. What the fuck was Jessie thinking about? Didn’t she even look at the men she slept with?
‘You haven’t spoken to her or called her – I already fucking know that. I just want to know if you’ve seen her, or spoken to anyone who has?’
Jonny Parsons was shaking his head vehemently. ‘No. Nothing. Not a word. I ain’t heard anything about her from anyone either.’
Michael turned around, and looked at Declan in abject disbelief. ‘What a fucking Casanova this cunt is, Declan. He fucks them and leaves them by the sounds of it.’
Jonny was in deep trouble, and he didn’t know what he could do to help himself. If he had any information about Jessie he would happily tell her father.
Michael shook his head sadly, and Declan knew what was coming next. The first punch lifted Jonny Parsons off his feet, and opened up a large gash in his right eyebrow. Michael watched the man go down. He collapsed on to the floor and, curling himself up into a tight ball, he tried to protect his head with his arms. Michael looked at the man for a few seconds, then used his feet and, as he kicked his daughter’s bedmate over and over again, he was glad to be able to vent some of his anger. He had sussed Jonny Parsons out, knew the man had bragged about his relationship with his daughter, had seen her as his passport into the big time. He wasn’t the first idiot to think that and, unfortunately, he probably wouldn’t be the last. But it felt good hurting him, reminding the man of who he was dealing with.
Declan watched everything with his usual calm. He had been on the other end of Michael’s anger himself, and he knew how violent it could be. Michael needed to vent his spleen – it would do him the world of good.
Declan waited until Michael’s anger was spent before he stepped in. Jonny Parsons was a bloody mess and, pulling Michael away from the man firmly, he sat him down behind the desk. Then, going to the office door, he opened it and called in a couple of the bouncers. They knew the score as soon as they stepped into the room, and they picked up Jonny Parsons without any words needing to be spoken.
Declan shut the door behind them and, turning to Michael, he said carefully, ‘Feeling better, are we? Now, we need to think about this logically, Michael.’
Michael sat forward in the old typist’s chair and, holding his head in his hands, he said brokenly, near to tears, ‘That’s just it, there’s no fucking logic to it, Declan. That’s the problem. I know in my guts that this is fucking serious. This is fucking personal. This is not about my Jessie. How can it be? You said it yourself. Who would fucking dare to touch my daughter?’
Declan could see the man’s point, but he still wasn’t convinced. Michael Flynn had the Colombians behind him; there wasn’t anyone who had the guts to take him on. He was too protected, too respected. He ran his empire fairly and squarely, and he made sure that everyone he was involved with earned so much they were loyal to him. Michael Flynn entertained some of the most dangerous men in the world. It was terrible to see him like this, so vulnerable, so worried.
‘Look, Michael, what if she’s shacked up somewhere, oblivious to all that’s going on? You know what she’s like.’
Michael looked at his old friend, and he sighed heavily. ‘I hope you’re right, Declan, I really do. But something is telling me, inside, that’s not the case. She’s in trouble. I just know it.’
Chapter One Hundred