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Hi everyone! I just want to reiterate: I'm writing this for fun, I do it in my free time and unfortunately I don't have too much of that at the moment. I'm updating as fast as I can. Please be patient!

Sisi …xx

Quick - but MASSIVE - thank-you needs to go to NickyM1 for giving me some much needed support with updating this chapter.

Brendan had called Anne first. She hadn't answered but he'd assumed she'd still be travelling, or stressed out trying to negotiate London alone, or maybe this was how it would be from now on. Maybe she just wasn't going to return his calls now that they lived in different countries.

He waited all morning for her to return his call. He distracted himself with a few meaningless talks with some of the self-appointed Zone Leaders. Each leader outlined their zone's demands and not one of them had managed anything original. Blue and Green Zone were still demanding better housing conditions, Violet and Indigo Zones were asking for better drainage, Yellow Zone focused on better processing power for their computers, and Orange and Red Zone both claimed they didn't get enough respect. Brendan had brought Walker and Warren into his office for the talks with Orange and Red Zone. He wanted his henchmen to hear the snivelling complaints of The Estate's supposed tough men.

Brendan knew he had a bored expression on his face. He barely had the energy to listen anymore, he was just anxiously rotating his mobile in his left hand waiting for Anne's reply.

'Point four,' Will Savage continued in his most politicised voice. 'We should know well in advance if the girls aren't going to be here.'

There was a pause. Brendan was probably supposed to be answering something, but he'd already blagged his way through the other six Zone's "Five Point Improvement Plans" by using the same listening technique he'd used on Macca when the lad talked about … well, anything. Walker answered for him.

'How long have you been on this Estate, Will?'

'I don't know,' he shrugged, 'five years.'

'Seven,' the man corrected sharply. Brendan was paying attention now. He liked watching Walker work his twisted sorcery on the pompous zoners.

'You've been here seven years. And in that time, on how many occasions have the girls not turned up?'

'I don't know.' Will was flustered, pushing his glasses up his nose and glancing around the office as though looking for answers. 'A couple?'

'No. None. Yesterday was the first time it has ever happened. It's the first time we,' he gestured across the table to the three of them, 'have ever let you down. Let's compare that to the amount of times you've let us down, shall we?'

'Well, I don't know if we need to….' Will fumbled his words and rung his hands.

'No, I think we do,' Brendan felt himself smirking as he pushed himself upright. He was beginning to enjoy this interrogation. He even slipped his phone into his pocket.

'Prague,' Walker began, like the robotic encyclopaedia he was. 'First job abroad, you refused to leave your hotel room because you were convinced something bad was going to happen; transpired you'd scared yourself after watching In Bruge.'

Brendan laughed out loud, which was more unprofessional than he'd have liked but he didn't really care at this stage.

'Dublin,' Walker continued. 'You fell down the stairs whilst running from the Garda, who were only alerted to the robbery because you'd failed to stick to the plan outlined in the briefing. You ended up in wheelchair for two months while your broken arm and ankle recovered. London, around the time of the Olympics….' And the list went on and on, which told Brendan nothing except how impressive Walker's memory was and how incompetent the zoners were. This was supposed to be one of his best guys and his errors were seemingly countless.

'Why are you doing this!' Well screeched eventually. He was glaring at Walker with a look of betrayal in his eyes. 'I thought we were on the same side.'

'Get out,' Brendan deadpanned. He'd had enough now, and what did he care about the delusions of some over-confident imp. There were all on the same side on The Estate, but that didn't mean they were all equal. Had this boy learned nothing from Stalin? Did he even know who Stalin was?

'I wasn't talking to you,' Will snarled.

Brendan blinked.

No one on The Estate had ever talked to him like that. The zoners might not know a lot between them, but they all knew that Brendan was someone to fear. He rose slowly to his feet and began to move steadily towards him.

'Sorry William,' he whispered, putting a hand to his ear. 'I didn't quite catch that. Say it again.'

'I….' Will took a nervous step backwards. Good. He was starting to remember his place.

'Say. It. Again,' Brendan repeated, enclosing Will's face in a claw like grip. 'Pleeease,' he drawled.

Will said nothing. He wasn't quite as stupid as Brendan first thought, but he kept glancing to Walker for support; so maybe he was.

'No? I'll refresh your memory.'

Brendan pinched his fingers into Will's cheeks, forcing his jaw to open and closed in time with his imitation of the boy:

'I wasn't talking to you.'

'Well William,' he was enjoying himself now, 'that's very interesting because you see, I'm the boss. You're always talking to me.'

He squeezed Will's cheek again: 'I'm so sorry Brendan.'

'Hey. Hey, that's okay,' he soothed. 'You won't do it again, will you?'

'Oh no Brendan. I really am very sorry for being soooooo stupid. But it's not my fault, my whore of a mother did heroin when she was pregnant with me.'

'Well that's quite obvious.'

'And I know if I ever do something like that again, you'll finish me in my sleep.'

Brendan released Will's face and watched the boy rub his jaw in an attempt to regain some feeling in his face.

'Well, that's very true, William. I will kill you if you ever offend me and with me being so temperamental, who knows what could offend me? This, for example,' he pinched at Will's ugly, knitted, old-man jumper, 'is quite offensive.'

Will just narrowed his eyes in response and Brendan forced a manic guffaw.

'It's a jumper,' he laughed. He felt insane. The pressure of the last couple of days had finally snapped his fragile grip on reality. 'I wouldn't kill you because of a jumper. It's probably the biggest crime you've ever committed.' He chuckled, looking to his henchmen for backup. They just watched with stony indifference.

Where was Anne when he needed her? Anne would have laughed. Or more likely, she'd have told him he'd lost the plot, and brought be back to reality. And Steven … he would have given him a look that would have made him feel more human.

'Lets go,' he said to Warren and Walker, twitching his head toward the door. 'I've got better things to do with my time. Not you,' he shoved a hand in Will's chest as the moron tried to follow. 'You can stay here for a while.'

He was just closing the door when Will's stupidity caught up with him again.

'You won't always be in charge, Brendan. One day, you'll be weak and when you are, I'll come for you! I'll come for you!'

Brendan slammed the door shut.

'Give him five hours and then blindfold him, take him to a field somewhere and leave him there.'

'You can't,' Warren said quickly.

'Why can't I?' he seethed. He was fed-up of people talking back to him today.

'You'll turn him into a martyr,' Walker explained.

'Exactly,' Warren agreed, though Brendan had serious doubts that Walker even knew what a martyr was.

'And how exactly,' he glanced to Warren to emphasise the oafs one-word contribution, 'would I be turning him into a martyr?'

'The Estate is unhappy. Jobs haven't been going well. Red Zoners were killed. Blue Zoners were chased out of town. Green Zoners aren't able to grow any good quality stuff and most of the Purple Region are still paddling around after the floods … and now the girls aren't turning up.'

'They're not rioting,' Brendan pointed out.

'Yet,' Walker said calmly. 'But give them a martyr and they might just start.'

'Exactly,' Warren chipped in pointedly, which made Brendan want to bash his brains in with a wrench.

'So … we just let him go?' Brendan asked.

'For now,' Walker nodded. 'We bide our time. We wait until he's weak, vulnerable even, and then we take him apart…'

'… piece by piece,' Warren finished.

Brendan just frowned. He'd never seen these two on the same wave length before - usually they were worlds apart – and patient manipulation certainly wasn't a natural revenge process for Warren.

Warren was the man who'd tried to shoot his fiancée for cheating on him. He was the man who'd run into a burning building to punch her lover in the face. That was how he'd come to The Estate and that hot-headedness was why Brendan had liked him.

But this, this calculated talk of revenge, had Walker all over it. And if it was Walker's idea, then it was a plan, and if it was a plan and he didn't know about it, then something bad was going to happen. Maybe it already was.

He had to get hold of Anne. He had to check she was still safe … and Chez … and Steven.

But for now he had to get upstairs in the least suspicious way possible. He needed to pack. He needed to leave. This was a mutiny and he would not be made to walk the plank.

'Okay,' he nodded calmly. 'No martyrs. But promise me he'll get what he deserves.'

'Oh, he will,' Walker promised. 'We all get what we want in deserve in the end.'

Brendan used Anne's failsafe tactic of playing dumb and nodded, before adding:

'Now, I'll go and find out what happened to these girls.'

He took the stairs steadily, playing on his phone, trying to find "Mitzeee…x". He hit call.

This was the 15th time he'd called her and now he was just scared. What if Walker had done something at the airport? What if Warren had finally got hold of her?

The phone rang through to voicemail. He hit redial and put it on loudspeaker, listening to the monotonous dialling tone as he dragged a bag from his wardrobe and filled it with anything he could find. The voicemail woman began her spiel and he hit redial again. Tracksuit trousers, jumper, toiletries bag, socks, pants; it was all thrown haphazardly into the bag.

The woman spoke.

He pushed redial and hunted around for some shoes.

This time, Anne answered.

'For God's sake, Brendan,' she snarled down the phone. 'I'm not talking to you.'

'Oh thank God.' Brendan breathed a sigh of relief and whispered a silent prayer, touching the crucifix around his neck. Anne's irate ranting had never been so welcome:

'Cheryl called me. She screamed down the phone at me and called me a whore because I have apparently been having an affair with Ste.'

She paused. She was waiting for an apology, but all he said was:

'I'm just glad you're alive.'

'You can't lie about me like that Brendan. You can't keep getting away with it and….' She stopped. 'Alive? Bren, am I in danger?'

'I don't know,' he answered honestly.

There was a pause and then quietly: 'Are you in danger?'

'I think so.' He threw a few final items into his bag and closed the zip. 'It's Walker. I think he's planning something. And if I've realised that, then it's already too late to stop him.'

'What are you going to do, Bren?'

'I just need to get away from here. Somewhere no will find me.'

'What can I do?'

'Have you found Riley yet?'

'No.'

'Find him,' he insisted. It suddenly felt like the most important thing in the world. 'Make him see how special you are.'

'Bren.' It was clear from her voice she was crying, that silent kind of cry that robs you of words and dignity.

'Just do me a favour Anne, please.'

'What?' The word was barely audible.

'Check on Cheryl for me occasionally and … check on….' He stopped. He couldn't say the name, but she knew. She always knew.

'Steven,' she finished for him.

'Yeah,' he breathed. The emotion was gagging him too and making his eyes water, just a little. 'Right, well, I should go. I need to … go.'

She was quiet and he thought she probably didn't want to say "goodbye". He understood, it felt too final. He couldn't bring an end to this friendship either. Maybe he should just hang-up.

He was about to hit the "end call" button when he heard his name, and:

'If this is it … I just….' There was a long wait and then, 'I love you, Bren. Be safe.'

'You too,' he replied, but he suspected she'd already hung-up.

::

When he returned to the living room, Warren and Walker were sat in the sitting room watching TV. They were bickering over whether it was more important to watch BBC News or Sky Sports News. To Brendan, there was no question. In was an insult that Sky Sports were even allowed to call one of their shows "News".

'Going somewhere, Brady?' Walker asked, his eyes flicked to the bag over Brendan's shoulder.

'Cheryl,' he answered calmly. 'She's stressing about wedding stuff.'

'Well you'd better go then … as your maid of honour,' Warren laughed. An expected, marginally homophobic remark from Warren Fox was about as normal as you could get. In fact, nothing in the sitting room felt out of place and he wondered for a second if he'd let his imagination run away with him. Maybe now that Anne was out of his life and Steven wasn't around to distract him, he'd become a certain kind of paranoid.

'I'll be back in a few days,' he pushed on with the charade. 'Tell everyone we'll discuss their problems then. And Foxy, try not to incite any riots.'

'Yes boss.' The man gave a sarcastic salute and snatched the remote from the sofa as Walker rose slowly to his feet. Warren clearly didn't know what was going on, not really, but he wasn't the one Brendan was worried about. He would always beat Warren, at any time, playing any game. But Walker? That was another story and the man looked smug now. He looked like he'd just achieved a marvellous victory.

And then he spoke. His tone even, his face unthreatening but he was very, very precise.

'You weren't really thinking of coming back, were you Brady?'

'Well, I….' But the charade was broken. They weren't playing anymore.

'You know that every person on The Estate has a bullet with your name on.'

'Every person?'

'Well, I gave them the bullets,' he said a little smugly. 'I scratched your name on them.'

Brendan had nothing smart to say so he took the sarcasm option: 'Must've taken a while.'

Walker's face cracked into pure evil. A scowl like Brendan had never seen on a human being before.

'This place has been falling apart for months, but you barely noticed, not with young Steven to distract you.'

Brendan felt sick. Walker had seen straight through him. He'd seen through every lie, every bit of bravado, every ounce of denial when it came to Steven.

'I couldn't have organised his arrival any better. It fitted in so neatly with the plan.'

'How long?' That's all Brendan wanted to know. How long had he trusted the untrustworthy? How long had he put faith in the unfaithful? How long had he been taken for a fool?

'Since the beginning,' Walker stated. No smile, no pride; he was like a robot and Brendan hated him, now more than ever. 'Ever since that disastrous mission to Poland.'

Brendan couldn't remember. There'd been a few disastrous missions in the early days. The blank he was drawing in his brain must have been visible on his face.

'Don't you dare!' Walker seethed, his face flushing with fury. 'Don't you dare say you've forgotten it! You had a tip off about a huge deal in Poland. High risk, high reward.

'Stealing from a Polish pseudo-mafia. They were an unknown quantity, but what could they really have that your men weren't used to dealing with? The Red Zoners would have had no trouble. The Orange Zoners; it would have been a breeze for them to. But they were all on errands, weren't they?'

Brendan was starting to remember now. It was years ago, before Walker, before Warren. The Estate was still young, still more an insane idea than anything. There were a few dozen men in the entire place and two girls who'd were as good as any Red Zoner.

Anne was living with him as his girlfriend and Vinnie was getting on his last nerve because he hated playing the role of "right-hand man".

Brendan had been running the entire place using his instincts, not all of them good. The Poland job had been a rash call. He'd been blinded by greed.

'You,' Walker poked a finger hard into his breastbone, 'you didn't care about anything except filling your pockets and you couldn't stand a missed opportunity. So you turned to a group of Green Zoners and sent them on the job instead. No briefing, no weapons, no idea. There were like lambs to the slaughter. Ten went out. Do you know how many came back, Brendan?'

He shook his head. He remembered that the job brought in money. He remembered The Estate's ranks swelling with Eastern European criminals and word of mouth meant The Estates notoriety had opened the entire European market to them. He didn't remember what all that had cost.

'Seven,' Walker answered.

Brendan found himself itching to point out that three lives for all that gain was actually a pretty reasonable trade, but he sensed Walker wasn't going to see it his way.

'Three dead. Three lives for your greed. Your carelessness.' He laughed mirthlessly. 'I bet you don't even remember their names.'

He didn't, but he suspected Walker might and he guessed they were somehow significant.

'Daniel Hughes,' Walker said. 'Karl Milkovich and Cameron Walker … my brother.'

Things clicked into place. This was a vendetta on behalf of his brother but even now, with the names still ringing in his ears, Brendan couldn't remember them. There'd been so many casualties over the years, so many learning curves, which had been more like learning hair-pin bends.

'Look, Walker, I….'

'Save it,' Walker snapped, eyes flashing with the anger he was barely keeping hidden. 'There's nothing you can say Brendan.' He breathed in and out slowly and shook his head. His gaze was malicious, so filled with pure hatred and unrelenting sorrow. 'Cam idolised you. All he wanted was to be just like you, be as smart as you. He was jealous of Vinnie, getting to be your right-hand man.' He scoffed. 'If only he'd known what a boy has to do to get the attention of King Brady.

'He went to Krakow desperate to impress you, desperate for you to notice him.' He was becoming more and more wound up. 'He died trying to get your attention and you can't even remember his name!'

'Walker, I'm sorry,' Brendan interrupted and he was. He was genuinely sorry about every life lost because of The Estate.

'You're going to be more than sorry,' Walker hissed in response.

'Walker, I….'

'I came here right after Cam's death. String of high profile robberies under my belt, an old army tactician gone rogue. Originally I planned to gain your trust, and then kill you in your sleep. An eye for an eye, well,' he glanced meaningfully to the cross around Brendan's neck, 'you know how it goes. But then I realised, killing you was better than you deserved. I wanted to watch you suffer. A few Bacardis down the pub and a quick snip of the brake lines later and little Vinnie's burning up in a fireball.'

'You vicious!' Brendan swung a punch but Walker was too quick, ducking with expert skill.

'Now, now,' Walker admonished jovially. 'I haven't finished my story yet.'

'Vinnie didn't deserve that.'

'And Cam did?'

'You brother was a Green Zoner,' he yelled. 'A stoner at best, a junkie at worst!'

It was Walker's turn to throw a punch, and Brendan wasn't quite as skilled at avoiding them. The pain shot through his face, his lip felt like it was on fire but, more than anything, he just wanted to hit back hard.

'Don't,' Walker warned, pulling a gun from his belt and directing it between Brendan's eyes. So that was it; keep calm or die trying. He opened his mouth and if these were to be his last words, then so be it.

'Vinnie was a good lad … a good lad.'

But Walker just brushed off the comment with an easy sneer.

'If only you'd shown that much emotion at the time,' he sighed. He sounded like a disappointed teacher. 'Maybe it could have been over, but no. News of Vinnie's death filtered through The Estate and you … you did nothing. No tears, no unexplained absences, not even a funeral.

'I knew you hadn't suffered enough.' His shoulders relaxed and he slid into a more conversational tone. Suddenly they were Brendan and Walker, mates having a drink down the pub. 'I thought about killing Cheryl….'

Brendan growled at the thought.

'… and then Mitzeee, always Mitzeee … but then I realised that there was one thing you loved more than them. The thing you valued higher than my brother's life: The Estate.' He smirked. 'Warren was working on chasing Mitzeee out and Doug was very keen to save Ste from the evil Brendan Brady.' Brendan could feel the blood rising inside him. He was shaking with anger, with hurt, with every loss he'd suffered, knowing he'd just been dancing along to Walker's orchestra of chaos.

'They were both too loyal to you,' Walker sighed. 'There was nothing I could do to get them to bloody leave!' He laughed a little, like he'd remembered something funny. 'Luckily for me, you took care of that for me. The two people who love you most in the world and you screwed it up spectacularly. And now,' his eyes flashed amusedly, 'here you are.' Walker gestured dramatically to Brendan. 'No Estate, no friends, no lover, nothing. I've. Taken. It. All.'

'Congratulations,' Brendan replied. He felt defeated. He felt beaten and bruised by the revelations but he wouldn't admit it to this calculated psychopath. 'You've won, Walker. Is that what you wanted to hear?'

'No,' Walker said, calm as ever. 'I don't want to hear anything. I just want to watch you squirm. I want to see your face when you realise that I am never going to stop coming for you. And now, I have the power of The Estate behind me.'

Walker cocked the gun playfully, and pressed the barrel to Brendan's forehead.

'Say hello to the rest of your sorry life, Brady. When I'm done with you, you'll be begging me to put this bullet in your brain.'

Warren decided this was the time to interject his own brand of idiocy, with a pointless little:

'Tough break, Brady.'

'What have I ever to you?' Brendan demanded, looking at the potato-man on his sofa. He was chewing gum and had his feet on Brendan's beloved coffee table. He was an opportunist and he didn't deserve any of it.

'Nothing,' he admitted. 'But with you out of the way, I'll be second in command.'

'You already were second in command!' Brendan cried incredulously. He couldn't believe that his life had been torn apart by Walker and Warren, who used to be loyal to him, hadn't stopped it because he was too stupid to realise his importance.

'Joint second,' he shrugged. 'Now I'm just second.'

'You're an idiot,' Brendan deadpanned. There was nothing else left to say about Warren Fox.

'Talk like that is why he sided with me,' Walker said, lowering the gun and snapping the safety catch back on. 'Now go on. Run away. I'll give you a head start, and then we'll see how long it takes for my next treat to catch up with you.'

Brendan didn't need to be told twice. He left the house and dived into his car.

He had to get to Dublin Airport. He'd get the first flight out of Europe, it didn't matter where. He could move around later, find somewhere unexpected to lay low. The world was big enough to hide him for the rest of his life.

It wasn't that easy and he wasn't sure why he'd ever let himself believe it would be.

He was still a long way from Dublin when he saw the blue flashing lights and heard the screeching sirens of the Garda. He was going too quickly, but the road to Dublin was usually deserted. This wasn't going to be the usual speeding ticket and a fine.

He thought about putting his foot down. Their little blue and yellow Ford Focus was no match for his BMW, but there was nowhere to turn off and eventually they'd hit Dublin traffic.

He pulled over and wound down the window.

'Fine day,' he said casually. 'Not a raindrop in sight. Must be the start of summer.'

The Garda wasn't interested in small talk.

'Is this here your car, sir?'

'Yes. Do you like it? I got a good deal from…'

'Can I ask you step out of the car, sir,' this time the formal address was a spitting insult. When did the Irish people stop being friendly?

'Can I ask why?' he said, opening up the door.

'This car has been spotted driving away from the site of some very significant drug deals, sir,' the Garda continued, beckoning to his partner who was sipping from a can of Fanta in the car. 'Perhaps you could stand aside while I check for anything … suspicious.'

The young Garda climbed into the passenger seat and began rummaging around in all the usual places. He seemed a little excitable. Perhaps he was reading tomorrow's headlines: Local Garda Brings End to Notorious Drugs Barron.

Brendan didn't know what the lad was going to find, but he was sure Walker would have packed his car out with enough of it to put him in Portlaoise Prison for the rest of his days. He wasn't expecting:

'Can't see anything.'

'You haven't checked the boot yet,' his Fanta-swigging mate pointed out. He was keeping half an eye on Brendan. Pointless really. Where was he going to go, up into the hills to re-enact The Sound of Music?

'Oh yes,' he puffed out his chest and put on his most official voice. 'Could you open up the boot there, sir?'

'Sure,' Brendan nodded, a feeling of catastrophic doom ripping though him.

There was going to be something; a final surprise from Walker, the life ruining gift from a man he'd always trusted.

He reached under the BWM badge and pressed his fingers onto the button. He lifted the boot and let it rise slowly.

He could do nothing but stare in horror at the bloody mess ahead of him.

'Oh God,' he breathed.

But one of the Garda's had already clamped some handcuffs on him and was as good as throwing him against the car. His rights were read, he could only nod his confirmation that the understood. His words had been stolen from him, just like his life, just like his old lovers.

He was rendered completely speechless. His emotions were numb. He was sick. And he was utterly, utterly beaten.

Thanks for reading. Reviews are most welcome, but please try to keep the negative ones constructive.

xx