Chapter 4

Pembroke stepped off the boat with a nervous grunt, his bulky frame teetering as he avoided falling into the freezing waters of the tiny harbor. His new trainers sank into the mossy ground as he steadied himself, adjusting his new sports shellsuit, which did little to mask the stale smell of cigarettes and alcohol.

He surveyed the desolate Scottish island with a sneer. “What the hell is this place? I thought she just had an old cottage,” he muttered, scanning the barren cliffs and sparse trees.

Gregor, the wiry property agent, hesitated. “It’s ... secure. Only accessible by a boat this size through the small harbor here. Otherwise, the rocks make landing impossible. The cottage is just up the path.”

The boat ride had been silent and awkward, and Gregor’s unease around Pembroke only grew as they climbed the rocky trail. Pembroke’s hulking figure, jowls wobbling with each step as he struggled for breath, cast an imposing but ungainly presence. Gregor could only wonder at the menace behind the man, he had checked his records and he knew he was a convicted sex offender and had a violent past.

The island, 20 acres of rocky isolation, had belonged to Pembroke’s late mother, who’d inherited it from her American survivalist ex-husband. Now, it was Pembroke’s.

“So, the old Yank built a fortress?” Pembroke sneered. “Typical doomsday nonsense. He was mad enough to marry my mother—more money than sense I suppose.”

Gregor held his tongue as they marched on. Ahead stood a squat stone structure, its reinforced steel door gleaming in the pale light. A solitary wind turbine spun lazily nearby.

Pembroke’s lips curled into a grin. “Now this is interesting. Looks like Mother didn’t tell me everything.”

Gregor unlocked the heavy door with the keys and typed in the code from his paper notepad. “Shall we go inside? It’s finished but empty. You’d need to stock it with food and supplies. There’s solar and wind power and a backup generator, but no internet or TV. Just an emergency radio to contact the nearest island. It’s ... remote. A place for a long retreat, really.”

Pembroke sighed as he looked inside. It was bare. No valuables, just a series of locked doors, secure walls, and then stairs into a basement, which was also filled with nothing but clean sterility. It might be worth something, but by the time he sold it and got the money, he might be dead. Then again, would anyone buy this? It was an island in the middle of nowhere with nothing on it but a locked up house, with nothing in it.

“I suppose I might put it on AirBnb” scorned Pembroke. #

“Ha, well, I think you might find some buyer, Perhaps it might interest people interested in escaping humanity for a few weeks or months, maybe a yoga retreat?” said Gregor.

Darker thoughts flickered through Pembroke’s mind as he thought of women in yoga pants on the island, in the house.

“And this is it? Just this island, and the ten grand and nothing more?” said Pembroke incredulously.

“Yes, Edward” said Gregor, bored of repeating himself. “I guess she just wanted to give all her belongings away before she died, maybe to liberate herself.” It struck Gregor as ironic—if not deliberate—that Pembroke’s mother had ensured her son only remaining family was left with nothing but a small sum of money and this desolate, useless island, even without having left any will.

Dr Kate McAllister loved her job. She loved interacting with the teenage girls she had to examine as part of her work as a peadatrician. Even the troubled ones—in fact, especially the troubled ones.

Kate was dressed impeccably. Her black heels clicked softly against the polished floor, as she adjusted her position on the sleek leather chair. The sheer, dark pantyhose clung perfectly to her long, toned legs. Her short black skirt was daringly cut with a slit that teased its way high along her thigh. Her white shirt hugged her figure, neatly tucked in adorned with a bow. Her blonde hair was swept up into a bun, and she adjusted her glasses and chewed her pencil as she considered her last patient of the day.

Gillian Wright, 16, here for an appointment. Kate sighed softly. A troubled young girl—drugs, broken home, suicide attempts, and dodgy boyfriends.

Gillian was a goth, hair dyed black, with a face painted with black mascara and black lipstick. She wore a long black dress with slits showing off her black stocking tops. Despite being 25 years younger, she was heavier and less attractive than Dr Kate, and the younger girl resented it.

“Hi, Gillian, how are you today?” Kate’s voice was smooth and kind.

Gillian offered a quick smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Aye, fine. Just here ‘cause my mum’s on my case about check-ups and all that.” Her working class accent was a sharp contrast to Kate’s polished lilt.

Kate nodded, scanning the girl’s file. “Alright, let’s get started. Any health concerns recently?”

As Kate launched into her routine questions, Gillian’s thoughts turned inward, her polite mask hiding a storm.

Look at her, Gillian thought, her eyes flitting over Kate’s flawless skin, expensive watch, and the diamond ring glinting on her finger. “Blonde, perfect teeth, a posh voice—bet she’s got the perfect husband and a couple of wee brats in private school. Probably drives a bloody Range Rover. And here I am, skint, trying not to look like I’m shaking ‘cause I’ve not had a line since yesterday.”

Her gaze dropped to Kate’s black Manolo Blahniks, the delicate straps hugging her flawless feet, and then traced upward, lingering on those impossibly beautiful legs that seemed to go on forever. Envy tortured her. ‘What’s it like to just float through life like that, eh?” she thought bitterly. “Never wondering if your next tenner’s going to pills or food?”

Everything about Kate screamed perfection—untouchable, effortless, intoxicating.

“Perfect bitch.” The words burned in her mind, but outwardly, she only offered a polite smile.

“You’ve got a lovely voice, Doc. Bet the patients love you. Must be nice, having a job like this, helping folk.”

Kate beamed and blushed. “Thank you, Gillian. I do enjoy my work.”

Gillian smirked inwardly. “Bet you bloody do.”

When the appointment ended, Kate rose to leave. “You’re in good health, Gillian. Just try to cut back ... on those bad habits.”

As they walked to the reception area, Gillian hesitated by the door, glancing at Kate with a sickly sweet smile. “Hey, uh, could you walk me outside? I get a bit nervous in places like this.”

Kate’s instinct was to decline—guidelines discouraged unnecessary contact—but the vulnerable look in Gillian’s eyes softened her resolve.

“Of course,” she said, laughing lightly. “It’s not exactly in the handbook, but I’ll make an exception.”

They stepped into the crisp Edinburgh air, Kate shivering against the chill. Gillian lingered awkwardly before turning to her.

“Could I ... could I get a hug? Just ... I dunno, makes me feel less rubbish.” Her tone was almost shy, though her eyes glinted with something more calculating.

Kate hesitated for a moment. “It’s not really...” she began, then relented. “Alright, just this once.” She chuckled and gave Gillian a brief, professional hug.

Gillian’s arms tightened around her. “Thanks, Doc. Means a lot.”

Kate nodded, brushing it off as an unusual but harmless request, and watched as Gillian disappeared down the street.

Around the corner, Gillian’s boyfriend, Bashir, leaned against a wall, phone in hand. “Did you get it?” Gillian asked, her voice sharp now.

Bashir grinned, holding up his phone. “Crystal clear. Could even hear her laughing.”

Gillian’s lips curled into a smirk. “Perfect. Think we’ve got enough to make a case?”

“Depends how far you wanna go,” Bashir said. “Might be able to get some cash outta her, though. Settle out of court if we push hard enough.”

Gillian’s grin widened. “Fuck it, worth a go. Nothing to lose for us, everything to lose for that bitch!”

Edward Pembroke was enjoying his time back in London after his break in Scotland. He still felt oddly healthy despite his terrible prognosis. Maybe the Scottish air had done him good. Could he live out his days on the island by himself, bring over some alcohol some food, and what else? Did he need people?

Other people were horrible bastards and stuck-up cunts, and he should know? He’d spent a lifetime being one himself. If there was a back to be stabbed, a trust to be broken, or an opportunity to take without asking, Pembroke had been there, knife in hand.

He hated them, every last one. The ones who’d refused to let him have his way, who’d pushed back when he overstepped the mark, punished him, or worse - ruined his ugly fun just when things were getting interesting. They were all so infuriatingly righteous, so smug, with their morals and their limits.

Urban living had its perks, especially in London. The city offered anonymity, a vast, faceless crowd to disappear into, for a pervert like Pembroke. Among them were the thousands of beautiful young women and girls, moving through the streets, their presence a constant fascination for Edward Pembroke. He could watch them all day, waiting for the right moment to act, to turn observation into opportunity.

A bump of cocaine and several beers had bolstered his nerve. Today, he felt bold, ready to take his chances amid the throngs of people after the days of seeing hardly anyone in Scotland.

He leered at the young schoolgirls through the schoolgates, searching for Lucy Wu. She was there, somewhere. Perhaps he should just wait for her outside, and follow her again? It had been a while now, her guard might be down now. He cursed himself for not going further, if he got he alone next time, he would go the whole way. He pictured her meekly bending over a bench, as he ordered her to, his cock sliding into her ... Impatient and horny, Pembroke made his way to his favorite brothel, eager to ease his frustration. As he arrived and pushed open the door, he was greeted by Wioleta, the senior madam. She stood in the doorway, her dressing gown loosely tied, revealing cheap, tacky lingerie underneath. Her hardbitten expression did not betray that she had already been fucked on three separate occasions previously by Pembroke.