Ruby's Palace Read online

  Ruby’s Palace

  About the Author

  Kerry Barnes, born in 1964, grew up on a council estate in the South East.

  Pushed by her parents to become a doctor at a time and in a place where women only dreamed of having a professional career, she started off as a microbiologist and then went into medicine.

  She began writing when her daughter was born and she had free time, and by the time her children were grown, she had written four novels.

  Ruby’s Palace is the second to be published, following Ruthless.

  Also by this author

  Ruthless (ISBN: 978-1-84897-497-5)

  Ruby’s Palace

  Kerry Barnes

  Ruby’s Palace

  Olympia Publishers

  London

  www.olympiapublishers.com

  OLYMPIA PAPERBACK EDITION

  Copyright © Kerry Barnes 2017

  The right of Kerry Barnes to be identified as author of

  this work has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights Reserved

  No reproduction, copy or transmission of this publication

  may be made without written permission.

  No paragraph of this publication may be reproduced,

  copied or transmitted save with the written permission of the publisher, or in accordance with the provisions

  of the Copyright Act 1956 (as amended).

  Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to

  this publication may be liable to criminal

  prosecution and civil claims for damage.

  A CIP catalogue record for this title is

  available from the British Library.

  ISBN: 978-1-84897-801-0

  This is a work of fiction.

  Names, characters, places and incidents originate from the writer’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  First Published in 2017

  Olympia Publishers

  60 Cannon Street

  London

  EC4N 6NP

  Printed in Great Britain

  Dedication

  I grew up in a truly loving family and I would like to dedicate this book to those who are no longer with us.

  My grandmother Isobel Barnes (Nanny Barnes), the epitome of a strong woman.

  My Uncle Bill, Uncle Howard, Uncle Terry and my Aunt Kath were taken too soon and left a big hole in our hearts.

  You may be gone but you will never be forgotten.

  Acknowledgements

  I would like to acknowledge all the people that supported my first book, Ruthless; without them believing in me, there would be no Ruby’s Palace.

  My Uncle Trevor for helping me to bring the story to life, by keeping it real.

  Robert Wood – my co-pilot.

  Dannie Pleasants for her tireless proofreading.

  Regan Lockhart – the face of Ruby.

  Deryl Easton for her enormous support.

  Colin Gillon for the photo of Regan.

  Chapter One

  Dan looked at the bar staff standing in line ready for inspection. It was the opening night of Dan’s Palace, the latest in a string of clubs owned by the Vincent brothers. Dan’s club was the grandest. He had taken the concept from his brother-in-law’s casino in New York. He divided the club into sections: a pole dancing area, big dance floor and a poker room. The other two clubs had been above board for years, and so the authorities allowed him his first gambling licence.

  The men were rigged out in black suits and purple shirts – nothing tacky – and the women dressed in slinky purple dresses. It gave the club a classy edge. There would be no riff raff.

  “’Ere, Jody or Joanne, what’s your name?” Dan pointed to the scruffy-looking blonde, who had a fantastic figure and looked great in the dress. However, without makeup and with unwashed-looking hair, she resembled a hooker.

  “Me name’s Jady, what’s the problem?” she asked, bouncing her hands on her hips and chewing gum like she had a rubber ball in her mouth.

  Dan laughed, as everyone turned to stare at her. “Well, Jady, I do have a fucking problem, and it’s you! All of you, take a good butcher’s at Jady. Make a note that if you ever turn up to work looking like you couldn’t give a shit, then spin around on your heels and fuck off home.”

  Cassandra, a barmaid from his first club, was admiring Dan as she always did. He had never looked her way, no matter how hard she tried. He was the sexiest man she had ever met and grew more handsome with age. He kept himself trim two nights a week at the boxing club. He liked to take his nephew, Jack, and spar himself. The holidays abroad ensured he had a decent tan which set off his steely-blue eyes, the family trait. It was easy to spot a Vincent as they had an uncanny resemblance. Dan, the eldest, was in his forties, but still pulled younger women in their twenties due to his looks and cool exterior.

  Jady felt uncomfortable now as, with youth on her side, she was used to getting her own way.

  “There’s nothing wrong with how I look, darling. Perhaps you need to go to Specsavers.” She laughed, hoping the others would join in, but they wanted their jobs.

  Dan lit up a cigarette and pulled a deep drag. Everyone remained silent, waiting for the explosion. He looked down at his brand new black patent shoes and slowly lifted his head to glare at Jady. “You’re still here?”

  Her eyes darted around, searching for support. There was none.

  Choked up and humiliated, she asked, “So you really want me to go then?”

  “I think it’s a good idea that you leave of your own accord. You see, it’s like this. When you gaze around and realise that every inch of my club reeks of class and money, and, quite frankly, you don’t, it’s not difficult to work out, is it? One other thing, and a note to you all. Unless your surname is Vincent, then don’t ever get cocky with me. So, Jady, I'm gonna politely ask you to fuck off.”

  The rest of the staff watched and learned. The Vincents were hard, but fair on their employees, who were paid well but had to toe the line. Anyone caught with their fingers in the till faced a serious hiding and the sack. No one had the balls to cross the line. Not once they had heard the rumours.

  Jady spun on her heels and ran from the bar, blubbering like a schoolgirl.

  “Right then, girls, no flirting with the customers. You look good, but that’s all. I’ve got the dolly birds on the floor to do that, all right?”

  The girls nodded eagerly. Dan had employed sexy women with long legs and big tits to flirt with the older men and entice them to buy the champagne, which was another good little earner.

  “And, boys, anyone gets too pissed, you nod to security. Any problems, you ask Cassandra. She knows the ropes.” He glanced her way and winked. It was the first time he had ever made a gesture to her. In fact, she hadn’t been confident he knew her name.

  Cassandra blushed, which was very out of character. She was older than the others, being in her early thirties. Joe, Dan’s younger brother, had taken her on when they opened the first club called The Purple Palace. Joe was the least clever of the bunch, but his decision had been a good one. Cassandra looked good and worked hard: tall, slender and model-like, but she was also streetwise and tough. He watched her one night in the local pub fly kick a punter who had grabbed her tits and squeezed them. She had been polite enough to say, “Do that again and I’ll fucking floor ya.” The idiot laughed and did it again. Before he blinked, she had swung her leg around and, with a huge blow, knocked him clean off his feet. Cassandra continued to collect glasses, stepping over the concussed punter, who never returned to the pub. So, Joe snapped her up by offering more money and status. Of course, she grabbed th
e opportunity with both hands.

  Dan clocked Cassandra’s embarrassed glow and had a sudden urge to give her a hug, but he had a club to open and no time for fussing. As he walked away, he caught her staring at him and, without thinking, he winked again.

  The punters arrived in their droves, filling Dan’s Palace with Faces, footballers and wannabe WAGS. Women dressed to impress – fake tans, fake nails, and little more than a ribbon covering their fake tits. He proudly gazed around. It was just how he wanted it to be. Dan’s Palace was buzzing with classy, rich customers.

  Sam and Joe showed up together, dressed in sleek designer suits, crisp and polished.

  “’Ere, what’s with the flash Rolex and Armani whistles?” Dan gently punched Sam in the chest. “And you, Joe, what do ya call this ol’ bit of rag?” he laughed. Of all the brothers, Joe was teased the most, being the softest natured and not the sharpest knife in the drawer.

  “Fuck off, Dan, this ain’t off the peg. Handmade, this is.” He opened his jacket to show the lining.

  “Ooh, yes, it’s Primarkos,” he giggled.

  Dan hugged Joe. “You look great and it’s good to see ya.”

  “I’ve left Ol’ Sid running Sam’s,” said Sam. It sounded funny, saying his own name, but each brother had a club named after them.

  “Cor, I bet he loves that, aye?”

  Sam laughed and nodded. Sid was their father’s best friend. He’d helped run the scrap business when they were kids and they looked up to him as an uncle. Since their father had sold the yard, he’d gotten bored – and turned to the drink more than he should – so a few sessions in the clubs acting as manager kept him straight, much to the relief of his wife, Shirley.

  “And what about Joe’s? Who’s taking charge in there tonight?” asked Dan.

  “Adam. He’s over here for a while. His boy’s running a summer camp in the States and he offered, so all sorted.”

  Dan had faith in Adam. He was employed as his sister’s protection when she was in the country. If she trusted him with her life then he could certainly be trusted with the club. The Vincents kept their relationships tight. Authority was only given to a select few.

  “Fine and dandy. Let’s get ourselves a fucking good drink and watch the money come rolling in.” The three brothers walked to the bar, stared at by hungry women and intrigued men. Everyone wanted to know who the owners of the Palace were. They weren’t the usual ageing wannabes. All eyes were on them – with the women eager to impress. Their status meant respect and wealth.

  With the dance floor in full swing and the bar staff flat out, the boys sat back, grinning from ear to ear. As the evening moved on, the confidence in some of the women grew until one, by the name of Sophie, dressed in a white shirt and a leather belt, brazenly walked over to Sam and asked if, at the end of the night, he would be interested in a twelve-hour shag.

  Sam had the hardest look of the brothers, accentuated by an American GI crop, yet he had the steely-blue eyes and long eyelashes which the women loved.

  Joe and Dan waited to hear his reply. He laughed with embarrassment. It was a reaction very different from Dan’s who, after waiting a few seconds, jumped in. “Well, sweet cheeks, if he doesn’t fancy a marathon shag, I can’t stand by and see a good session go to waste, now can I?”

  Dan had the charm and sexy grin to go with it.

  Sophie, taken in by his interest, tried to sit on Dan’s lap. He laughed and moved his leg to the side, and she slid helplessly to the floor.

  “’Ere, hop it, darling, and you can come and find me, if you’re still sober at the end of the night.”

  She composed herself, smiled sweetly and left.

  “You’re a cruel bastard, Dan,” said Joe.

  “Leave off, I ain’t having no tart sitting on me new fucking whistle. For all I know, she might have pissed herself.”

  Sam nearly choked on his Bacardi and Coke.

  Just as the three brothers were eyeing up the girls, in came a stunning-looking woman. They stopped talking and smiled. She headed their way. Her figure was perfect. She walked with confidence and reeked of money. Kitted out in a black slim-fitting dress, her hair was pulled tightly away from her face, defining her high cheek bones and large, steely-blue eyes.

  All three jumped up to greet her.

  “’Ello, sis, glad you could come!” Dan beamed with excitement.

  She hugged each one and laughed with them. “Well, boys, you have done a great job. This place is rocking.”

  They looked at their sister with complete admiration. As tough and hard as they were, she was the queen bee.

  Living in the States with her husband, a very wealthy Italian named Sergio, she came back to London every couple of months to visit her family. She helped with their businesses, in particular the legalities. She had trained as a barrister and was always on hand if needed.

  Cassandra spotted Francesca and poured her favourite drink, brandy on the rocks.

  “Hello, Cassie. It’s lovely to see you again.” Francesca stood to greet her and Cassandra felt honoured.

  “This is a pleasant surprise, and I must say, you look stunning in that beautiful dress.”

  Francesca gave her a soft, kind smile, thanked her for the drinks, and watched as Cassie walked away.

  “She has an eye for you, Dan, and don’t pretend you haven’t noticed.”

  He grinned and his whole face lit up, showing a tiny diamond planted in his back tooth.

  “You could do a lot worse!” Francesca was trying to play the match maker.

  “Look, sis, I know Cassie likes me, and that’s why I keep me distance. She ain’t an old slapper, and I have too much respect for her. I couldn’t go there. She’s not my type. I’m not into all that heavy stuff.” He knocked back his vodka and laughed. “I’m content on me own. No one telling me what to do.” He grinned at his brother.

  Joe smiled. “Well, I’m happy with my Belinda and our little Alfie. That will do me fine, thanks very much!”

  “Yeah, Chubs. You need a woman bossing you around. Who else will tie up your shoelaces?”

  “Leave our Chubs… I mean Joe, alone. He could put you on your arse, Dan.” Francesca laughed and pinched Joe’s cheeks.

  “Too true. He knows I’m only joking.”

  “And what about you, Sam? Isn’t it time you found yourself a woman?” She looked adoringly at her brother and wished he could meet someone who would love him. He had devoted the last twelve years to his son and daughter and she was proud of him. Most men would have run a mile, but he didn’t. He doted on the children and made a good life for them. “Sam, don’t you think it’s time our Ruby and Jack had a mother figure? Someone nice and warm to cuddle up to in bed at night?”

  “Aw, fuck me, sis. You’ve only been away from Sergio a night, and you’re missing him already.”

  She laughed and sipped her brandy.

  “Anyway, sis, Jack and Ruby have got you.”

  She rolled her eyes. “But it’s not the same.”

  Dan kept one eye on the family gathering and one eye on the club. He didn’t need any trouble on the big opening. It never went down well in the local rag. Any fights would scar the reputation and he wanted a good name.

  “So how’s our Fred then, still chasing the Yankee birds?” laughed Sam.

  “Isn’t he here?” She looked at the bar.

  “No, he ain’t, and he didn’t say he was coming either,” said Joe.

  “He is definitely here. We flew in together. In fact, I was supposed to be the late one. Fred and Dom were suited and booted before I had even had a shower.”

  Dominic was another minder who looked after Francesca and Fred.

  “Well, where is the little fucker?” asked Sam excitedly. The brothers loved it when they got together. They didn’t need mates as such, as they had each other. Dan and Fred were the most alike in their cheeky ways. They could both charm the birds out of the trees. Fred was Francesca’s twin brother. He had moved to the States to
be with her – after a serious episode in England had left him with no choice. Once he had had the taste of American living, he decided to stay there. He followed in his sister’s footsteps by returning every month or so.

  “I bet he popped in to see Mum and Dad. You know how he misses them.”

  Dan nodded and Sam sighed. Joe was quiet: something was obviously bothering him.

  “’Ere, what you sulking about, Chubs?” asked Sam.

  Ignoring Sam, he turned to his sister. “Fran, do you think this suit looks like it’s come from Primark, or what?”

  Sam had just taken a swig of his drink and nearly choked with laughter.

  “Fucking ‘ell, Joe, how old are you? Gawd, mate, you must know by now we’re winding you up!”

  Joe pursed his lips together and Francesca pinched his cheeks again. Joe, the second eldest, was treated like the baby because at times he was so daft. As a young lad, he had been the muscle. If there was any hard core lifting to be done, he did the job. Even in the boxing ring, where they all trained, he was hard pressed to find an opponent who could make him wobble.

  He liked the slower pace of life. He had put a stop to the nights out and settled down with his girlfriend.

  Dan watched from the bar and clocked a group of men in the corner passing what looked like drug wraps.

  He recognised one of the men, a gypsy by the name of Levi, and felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He knew Levi from the boxing club and had heard he was a big supplier of skunk and cocaine, slyly peddling it wherever he could.

  “’Ere, Sam, check that cunt over there. If he thinks he’s gonna come into my gaff and start dealing, then I’m gonna —” Before Dan could finish, Sam jumped up.