The Letters (Carnage #4)
Lesley Jones
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I will keep these short and simple.
Firstly my family, thank you for your patience and understanding. I know that I’m not easy to live with when I’m writing, which is constantly lately, so thank you for putting up with my crap and the absences when I travel to meet my readers. I love you and I think they do too.
To my PA Jen and her husband Tai, thanks for everything you do, but mainly the friendship.
Thank you to my beautiful Beta’s and my amazing admin teams for keeping my world running smoothly.
Thanks to my editor Ash, I will have speaking proper English soon my luv, I promise.
To my readers. My readers, what can I say about you lot? You’re passion never ceases to amaze me, thank you, thank you for loving these characters and all their flaws.
To Margreet, for another perfect cover. You just ‘get’ me every single time.
To all of the bloggers that have ever given me a mention, I have a career, because of you lot.
Thank you everyone that has loved Georgia since she was eleven years old, for staying with her through the years, her loves, her losses, her laughs and her tantrums. Thank you for loving Sean, Cam, Marley and all of the Layton’s. These characters have consumed my life for two and a half years and now it’s time to say goodbye.
That’s it, short and sweet, just like me?
DEDICATION
For my readers.
You asked.
I hope I delivered.
CHAPTER 1
I clear customs in record time. The upside of landing at two in the morning I suppose. I am tired and miserable and just want to get home. As I enter the arrivals hall, I scan the space for my driver, who should be holding up a card with my name on it. I could’ve called Benny but thought I’d spare him the task. He hasn’t been well lately, blood pressure and a dodgy knee are both causing him problems. I’d paid for him to start working out with a personal trainer three times a week, and as much as he moaned about it, he has lost over three stone this last six months, and I know he is feeling better for it.
I spot a bloke of about thirty, holding up a card with my name on it and looking right at me. I do my best to keep my name out of the papers as much as possible, but he obviously recognises me. Giving him a small tilt of my chin in acknowledgment, I head around the barrier, dragging my suitcase behind me.
I could use the company’s private jet to travel, but it seems like such a waste for just one person, so I fly first class instead. No hardship there.
“Mr King, let me take that for you, sir,” my driver says as I reach him. “My name’s Parker, sir. I’ll be your driver tonight.” I give him another nod and let him take my case as I contemplate cracking a joke and asking him to call me Lady Penelope, seeing as his name is Parker. Like I said, though, it’s two in the morning, and I am not particularly cheerful right now.
“If you’d like to follow me, sir, we’ll get you settled in the car and home in no time.”
I remain silent and follow him to the Jag that is gonna get me home. Home to my Kitten and my kids. I hate being away and rarely make trips without Georgia, but this one was too important for me not to attend. We have one club in Australia, one in Asia, and four clubs throughout Europe now, and this week I had to meet with the heads of security for each one. Gone are the days of trying to stop underage kids with fake IDs, hidden miniature bottles of alcohol, or drugs in shoes. Now, the staff are searching for guns and suicide bombers. The world is a scary place and nightclubs are not immune to terrorists or rampaging idiots with guns. Our clubs are all upmarket and frequented by celebrities, as well as average clubbers, and I want each and every one of them to feel safe. The meetings over the last two weeks were about upgrading all of our systems and brainstorming best practices. It was far from exciting but very necessary. On any given weekend, my clubs are filled with other people’s children, and I have a duty of care to each and every one of them. One day, my kids would be off out clubbing, well, not until they are at least thirty, of course, for my daughters it may be never! But anyway, when that time comes, I want the standards of club security to be at a lot higher level than they were when I first started out.
My kids.
I couldn’t even think the words without smiling.
Two boys and two girls.
Those four little people and their mother are my world. One I never thought I would have with anyone, let alone their mother. My Kitten. The absolute love of my life
We’d taken a long and winding road, with unimaginable loss and heartbreak along the way, to get to each other, but we got here. Middle-aged and the happiest and most content we’d ever been in our lives.
We have been beyond fortunate to have brought four beautiful babies into this world as a bonus. Four little people that grow every day into young adults. Harry, who is fifteen now, is all legs, exactly the way I was when I was his age. We got lucky with that kid. As sad as it is to say, I’m relieved he has none of Tamara’s personality traits. H is generally the mediator amongst the kids. He’s pretty calm and easy going and no one would guess he is only a few months older than the rest of the kids, since he acts like an adult already. He is in the year above them at school and made sure everyone knew not to even think about breathing in the direction of his sisters, let alone looking at them when they joined him at secondary school they all attend. He steps in between their fights, which are frequent, and he helps them with their homework. He rarely argues with his brother or gives us any lip. He knows his background and that Georgia isn’t his birth mother. She’s the only mum he’s ever known, and since the day he came to live with us, that’s all he’s ever called her. I’ll admit that I was a little worried that her feelings might changes towards Harry when George and the twins arrived. That never happened, and the older he gets, the closer they seem to become. He goes to his mum for everything, and I mean everything. Hair product, girl advice, what T-shirt to wear to the shopping centre, all Georgia. The little shit never asks my advice on anything, his usual response to anything I say, is, “Get with it, old man”. He even sends her pictures of things before he buys them. I mean seriously, if you can’t dress yourself by the age of fifteen, then what f*cking hope is there for the kids of today?