Blood Money- Aftermath

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Thrillers  |  House: Booksie Classic
The sequel to Blood Money, Nic is now in prison and is desperate to see his wife and daughter who he still hasn't seen since before the heist. Repercussions are to follow

Submitted: October 20, 2016

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Submitted: October 20, 2016



I woke up clammy and in a sweat. I had no idea what the fuck was going on, or where the fuck I was. As my eyes adjusted to the vast brightness of my surroundings, I saw Kev and Steve standing above me. I tried to move but it was too painful to do so. Kev held his hand out to me, trying to help me up. I managed to raise my hand to touch his out-stretched fingers, but as soon as I made contact, he disappeared, as well as Steve, my vision turning from white bright space to a guy in a suit and tie with latex gloves giving me a bollocking for not putting my fingers on the scanner. What the fuck was going on?  Where the hell did Kev and Steve go? Where the fuck was I? 








All be it, I hadn’t seen my wife or daughter in over a year, prison life was reasonably bearable. After my trial, I was sent out of the UK to wherever I was now somewhere in Gibraltar, in a state of the art Ministry of Defence prison. The UK media had a fucking field day after I was arrested, and The Bank of England was closed for two months for a serious security upgrade. Many members of staff were fired, and a rapid training course was put into practice for ex British Military infantry so they were properly qualified to know the ins and outs of running a bank. But at the end of the day, what pained me the most out of all of this, is that both Kev and Steve had died for nothing. Both of my best friends, one of which was the godfather to my daughter, gone.


I was interrogated beyond relief after my arrest. The fact that only three of us had managed to walk in and out of The Bank of England with £175,000,000 had caught the attention of national security, MI5. I was treated like fucking shit and there was nothing I could do about it, because it turns out stealing the Queen's money can piss a lot of people off. I'm pretty sure if it was still legal to be punished by death that would have been the case. The compound I was currently in consisted of nine prisoners, including myself. All I managed to gather about my location, was that it was somewhere in the Gibraltar Islands, kept away from the world in this compound, all because some knob deemed me too 'dangerous' to stay contained within the UK. The compound itself though was like a fucking palace, not like your standard prison back home. The main building was essentially a renovated traditional Spanish Castle, the yellow brickwork constantly getting its fair share of sunshine. It's surroundings were equally as vintage, the courtyard out the back paved with gravel that opened out to a beautifully speechless view of the North Pacific Ocean. However, the breathtaking effect was always shattered when you came to spot what decorated the outer perimeter walls and the armed guards that walked around with fully automatic M4A1 assault rifles, equipped with 5.56mm full metal jacket rounds. In my time here, I'd never seen or heard one be fired, but I knew these pricks must be itching to pull the trigger. Closed Circuit camera's were everywhere, and couldn't scratch your arse without someone knowing, but putting all of that aside, it was bearable. There was a library with over 5,000 books, somehow all crime related, a fully fitted gym and the food was decent. I was forced to see a counsellor once a week, because apparently I was deemed emotionally unstable after seeing both Kev and Steve die, which was horseshit, but at the end of the day, I didn't want my punishment to be a bullet, but I had other intentions.

I had plans of getting the fuck out of here. I had a wife and daughter to see.

I'd been here long enough to memorize placement of guards and camera's. The front gate, which beyond it was freedom, was locked via a biometric scanner. To get past it, I'd have to overpower a guard, and somehow get to the front gate with no issues. And after thinking and planning exactly how I'd do it, tomorrow was going to be the big fucking day.




"Right, okay thank you", he said as he put the phone down.

The man in question took off his glasses and placed them on his desk, exhaling slowly. Reaching into his pocket, he took out a box of Black Devil cigarettes and lit one, the smoke curling out of his mouth and slowly dispersing into nothing. Tapping the cigarette in the ash tray, he picked up the folder on his desk labelled top secret and proceeded to read it:













Nic Doniger is believed to have been born in South London, all be it the exact location is unknown. At the age of 16 he joined the Territorial Army in the Brecon Beacons before moving to the English Parachute Regiment at the age of 19. He served Regiment for 7 years, before transferring to the SAS. His time with the SAS was cut short after only two years, but Doniger had collected a total of 302 kills across his Military career. His time with the SAS was cut short after he, one Kevin Witton, and Steve Arrowsmith were reported missing during an OP within South Africa. Kevin Smith and Steve Arrowsmith were known associates of Nic Doniger, but Head Office believed there was no issue with having to keep tabs on their movements too.




There’s only very little Intel to suggest the exact events of what happened in South Africa. The operation was initially to remove a possible connection to a London Terrorist Attack that was being planned in vengeance after the assassination of Osama Bin Laden by American Forces. The trio were sent to a remote town 20 miles north of Johannesburg but Satellite Intelligence failed to pick their GPS signal for the best part of 96 hours. It was first believed that somehow, said connection to another possible terrorist attack in London had received information of our plan, but the appropriate channels were checked and M15 declared this reason highly unlikely. From what we know now after the arrest of Nic Donigan and the thorough questioning methods taken place, South Africa was a lie created by all three, Steve, Kevin and Nic, so they could all go off the grid in order to secure weaponry and armor for the heist that was The Bank of England. It is believed that Nic Donigan acted as a freelance assassin in South Africa, and was responsible for the death of 18 known corrupt government officials operating in South Africa.




The Bank of England is something that should have never been allowed to happen. The UK is now seen as a international joke because of how easy three people had walked in and out with a substantial amount of cash. Intel reports that Kevin Witton was killed first by the first team of 6 SAS troops that were deployed to tackle the hostage situation,


*Australian born Sgt. Brock Jennings was commended the Victorian Cross at his funeral, only family members are two cousins who are believed to be living in Perth, Australia. No spouse or children, age of death 37*


before being killed by Nic Doniger himself. Autopsy reports show that his jugular vein had been punctured and the internal bleeding made his lungs fill with his own blood. Backup cameras confirmed Nic Donigan as the hand of death, footage shows Doniger throwing what is perceived to be a serrated carbon fiber 7” knife straight at Sgt. Brock Jennings, with no remorse of the repercussions. From here, we know that Donigan was responsible for the theft of an armored Police Transit Van, and a Ford Focus RS. Donigan reportedly loses control of the Ford Focus and Steve Arrowsmith killed himself by slicing his own neck. Because of this, we were unable to recover the exact amount of £92,870 because all the money was soaked in Arrowsmith’s blood. Donigan had then tried to run through an abandoned industrial estate and gunning down multiple officers in the process. He was later tranquilized from a helicopter sniper,


*Senior Marksmen Jake Westwood was promoted to Commanding Sergeant of the 17th Marksmen Regiment after managing to get a confirmed tranq shot on Nic Donigan from a distance of 730 meters* 


and later processed and prosecuted within M15 Private Courts on L******* Street in London. The Home Secretary then exiled Donigan to Casa D’Kilio, the Ministry of Defense containment ground within the Gibraltar Islands, after it was agreed Donigan was considered too dangerous to be kept on British Soil. He now serves a life sentence and is heavily guarded. In the past 17 months however, Donigan has showed no signs of rebelling against his given punishment




Aside from Kevin Witton and Steve Arrowsmith, Nic Donigan is believed to have a spouse named Rachel Donigan, and a daughter named Holly, aged 5. However, a short time after Donigan’s arrest, both Rachel and Holly went off the grid. A search team has been put in place and a warrant for the arrest of Rachel Donigan, but it is feared that both may be dead, after it was uncovered that a third party organization that Donigan worked for in South Africa didn’t receive their money because the heist was a bust. The investigation into this is ongoing.


End of report.

Please either destroy this document or file where necessary

M.O.D LOG ID #770496  



The man closed the file and threw it back on his desk. Standing up and looking out the window, he studied the calmness of the North Atlantic Ocean, and looked down upon the courtyard which was a wash of white due the floodlights kept on constantly at night.

“Jeffords?” the man said, asking out for his assistant

“Yes sir?” Jeffords said, coming into the office.

“I’ve just received word that Nic Doniger, prisoner nine? His wife and daughter have been found, dead in South Africa”

Jeffords looked at his boss with a level of uncertainty.

“Do we tell him?”

“I’m going to have to, otherwise sooner or later I'm going to have to start avoiding awkward questions. Get an armed guard to tell him the news. Actually no, send two guards. I don’t want this turning into something ugly, we’re about to tell a man both his wife and daughter are dead”

“I’m sorry to prude sir, but do we actually know whether this is true information?

“Jeffords, I asked myself the same thing. But pictures don’t lie, take a look at my laptop.

Jeffords walked over to the MacBook Pro on the desk, and turned the laptop screen around so it faced him. Almost immediately, he heaved.


The image showed two bodies, both heads cut off sitting in a basket next to the corpses with a paper sign that read, “The Donigan Family”…




Guards don’t normally knock on your cell door at 3:08 in the morning. I was awake instantly, hearing voices approaching my door before the knock. At first I said nothing, before having to leave my comfortable slumber and walking to my door. My cell door opened to reveal two armed guards, safety off on their M4A1’s, trigger fingers ready. I asked what their business was, they both looked at me with uneasy faces. Then, it was like someone had wrenched out my heart and crushed it in their palm. My wife and daughter was dead. No longer breathing, existing.


The guards reached for my cell door and started to close it, but inside me I had this spark start a fire of pain and anger. Without thinking, I jammed my cell door with my foot, reached out to the guard closest to me, and placed my thumbs over his eyes before jamming down and gouging them. Leaving him off on the floor, I kicked the second guard against the wall before he had a chance to react, forced his arms up so that the barrel speared the soft flesh underneath his chin and pulled his trigger finger. I was that fucking angry, I just made someone kill himself with his own fucking weapon, the sound of the bullet echoing down the corridor, my reward being a shower of blood over myself. Grabbing his armored vest and gun, I ran down the corridor, hoping to put as much distance between myself and what just happened before the alarm went off.

But it was too late, because just as I started to run, red beacons illuminated the corridor ahead, and with the beacons came the fucking alarm, wailing away like a bunker siren from World War II.

Fucking brilliant.

I came around a corner that led to the courtyard which the manager’s office was in, top floor of the traditional castle. I’d been in there once or twice, nicely furnished, constantly smelling like vanilla tobacco because the manager smoked Black Devils like a fucking chimney. I had to speak to him, and I wasn’t booking an appointment beforehand. Sprinting across the floodlit courtyard, a group of four armed guards came running out towards me, guns aims, poised and ready to fire. All these fucks had the training I had if not better, so I was up for the challenge. Raising my own weapon into my shoulder and selecting fully automatic fire, I curled my forefinger half an inch, the tiny hammer inside the weapon falling down, the inner mechanisms on the weapon coming together to deliver a spree of bullets under my command. Bullets smashed into the brickwork behind the group, and they themselves returned fire, the courtyard suddenly becoming a fucking miniature warzone.

I dived for cover, narrowly missing a bullet that skimmed the top of my leg, the heat of the bullet soaring through my calf. As they continued fire, I checked my magazine whilst in cover. All be it I had an armored vest, I didn’t have unlimited ammo. I had the best part of 20 bullets left, and somehow I still had to get out. Gritting my teeth, I made sure my gun was ready to fire, before balancing the weight of the rifle in one hand. If I could get the balance right, I’d be able to sprint with the automatic rifle, whilst firing it with one hand. Having found that sweet spot, I waited until these fucks would have to reload, and then made my move. Coming out of cover and sprinting towards the main building, with my left arm fully extended and trigger finger ready, my forefinger moved back that half an inch and sent bullets flying everywhere yet again, only this time whilst I was sprinting. I had a mass amount of pain in my arm from the weight of the gun and the recoil, but it bought me time because out the corner of my eye, I saw the other team cower behind whatever they could find. Making my run in short time, I took the magazine out of the rifle and pocketed it, before ditching the gun. At least now I had a fairly heavy metal box I could nut someone over the head with. Bursting through a side door into the castle, I made eyes with a guard and slid across the floor towards him, the original marble flooring of the castle aiding me with its lack of grip, enabling me to slide through the guards legs, and knocking him out by bringing the magazine of the rifle into his temple with such force the guard crumped to the floor. Taking his pistol, a suppressed USP.45, I continued forward and leapt upstairs, hoping to grab the manager before he went off to his fucking pussy panic room. I heard a load of guards running up the stairs behind me, shouting to the other guards around that I was in the building. I reached the top floor in easy time, considering there was only three floors. Shooting down two guards I could see up ahead, I barged through the door they were securing and found the manager and the assistant. Locking the door behind me, I told the assistant to shut the fuck up and put a bullet through his knee, and then pointed the gun at the manager, and told him to sit the fuck down.




“Mr. Donigan, I can understand that you’re quite upset about the news you received earlier, but is this really necessary…”

“How about, you shut the fuck up and listen?” Nic demanded, his voice slightly breaking

“What do you know about th...the death of my wife and daughter?”

“Mr. Donigan, please- just calm dow..”

“JUST ANSWER THE FUCKING QUESTION”, Nic demanded, pressing the barrel of the silencer into the manager's temple

"Okay, okay! Just please don't shoot me, I'll tell you everything I know.  Your wife and daughter were killed by the South African Liberationists you worked for to obtain weaponry and armor for your little bank stunt. We received the intel earlier this evening, and I thought it was best to tell you. I’m sorry”

Nic looked at him blankly, before grabbing the manager and throwing him across the room. The assistant was still on the floor, clutching his knee, trying his best to keep quiet. Raising the gun again at the manager, Nic continued conversation,

“Where are they believed to be now?”

The manager, struggling to catch his breath on the floor, blanked Nic, which angered him further.

“Are you fucking deaf?! Where are they believed to be operating now? Last chance” Nic shouted. The manager crawled to his desk, and used it to support himself getting up. Turning around to face Nic, he replied

“North Spain. We’ve got a mole back in London, they know where you are. They were planning to storm this compound and kill you too, but we’ve been trying to reason with them ever since we found out. Here, this is the file relating to everything”, the manager picked up the file labelled ‘Top Secret’ and passed it over to Nic.

Nic flicked through it before tucking it into the waistband of his pants.

“Tell your men to stand down if you want to live, otherwise I’m going to be forced to do something I don’t want to do. You’ve reasoned with me, now I shall be fair with you,” Nic said, gun still poised. The manager glanced at his colleague on the floor, and glanced back to Nic.

“I don’t really have a choice in this do I?”

“Ding ding ding, we have a winner. Now- let's go for a walk"





I unlocked the door to the office to see a corridor full of guards, guns all pointing straight at me, before they were lowered.

“You were all told to stand down, an official order by this fucking Ministry of Defense clown”, I said, as I dragged the manager into a headlock and placed the barrel of the gun against his skull.

“No one try and play the fucking hero”, I grabbed the manager and started walking with him. The alarm had stopped blaring and I could finally think without having to listen to that fucking racket. Turning around to double check that everyone had listened to me, I asked the manager where the helipad was, and less than ten minutes later, I was on it, with a Eurocopter X3, one of the fastest helicopters in the world. I thanked the manager for having me as a guest before shooting him point blank in the face, his withered body crumpling to the floor and subsequently falling off the helipad because of how close he was to the edge. I didn’t stop to watch him fall, I had business to attend to. Jumping in the helicopter and starting the main rotor, I double checked the co-ordinates in the file, punched them into the GPS system and took off. It had been a while since I last flew a helicopter, so after a bumpy start, I flew off and towards my destination leaving all the chaos behind me.


After some time, the GPS system was telling me I was above my destination, and after looking at it through some binoculars I found in the back of the Heli whilst flying, it certainly matched the photographs that were in the file. Leaving the helicopter to hover, I reached into the back and grabbed a parachute, double checked it was fine, and wrenched the helicopter main door open, the gentle early morning breeze tickling my skin. I jumped, and suddenly the gentle morning breeze turned into a windstorm, my clothes flapping in the wind, my eyes struggling to stay open. I turned over to see the helicopter spinning around in the air of its own accord, before watching it fall spectacularly. Spinning myself back around to see my landing point, I opened my parachute, the stopping force of the chute opening making me feel like I hit a brick wall. Gliding through the sky until landing awkwardly on my knee in some sort of private villa, I knew from the photographs that this was it. Getting myself out of the bush I was in, I stood up and realized there was someone ahead of me taking a piss, a suppressed pistol slung over his shoulder in a chest harness. I went to run over to him, but he heard me, as and he did, he went to throw a punch at me. As I dodged his punch, I counteracted him, grabbing his arm and wrenching it around him until I heard a snap, the distinctive sound of his forearm snapping in two. He cried out in agony, before I made a reach for the knife stuck to his leg, and sliced his throat, blood eerily oozing down his neck and onto his clothing. I stood up, clicking my knee and back as I did. I looked at what I had just done, but compared to what these fuckers had done to me- this was tame.

I still had revenge points to claim. Dragging his body out of sight, I swiped his silenced pistol and continued forward. He wouldn't be needing it anymore. Keeping as low as possible, I passed a set of shrubs and hedges, utilizing them for cover. Sticking to the hedges like a leaf, I followed it round until I came to an opening, one which I had no choice but to sprint across. There was however, one slight problem. The amount of private militia in this said open space. All I had was a silenced pistol, a Heckler & Koch USP.45 by the looks of it, with one full mag- giving me nine rounds at best. These guys were packing AK's and god knows what else. I had two options- be a sneaky shit, or a loud mouthed motherfucker. Fuck it, loud it was. There was too much of an enemy presence to be sneaky, so with that I went for the first guy I saw in my sight. Running up to him, I shot him square in the face, the bullet wound I had just created spurting blood like no tomorrow. The next guy, I grabbed the knife hanging off my belt, before throwing it through the air, the knife making a brutal yet glorious sound as it hit his eyeball, straight through his iris, staying there as if it was cemented in place. He screamed out in an unbelievable amount of pain, before collapsing- and that's when shit hit the fan. The loss of his eyeball didn't exactly go unnoticed, and out of my peripheral vision, I saw a crowd of three of four heading my way. Without further a due, a grabbed his weapon, an AK47 with a barrel that had been cut and a serial number worn off. I sprinted for cover, bullets from the dicks firing at me creating dust behind my feet, the cold pieces of metal trying to cut its way through my flesh and bone. Scrambling around a corner, I did a double tap on somebody at the top of a set of stairs, their body tumbling down like a limp ragdoll. I got to the top of the stairs, before emptying the mag of the AK behind me. I was hoping it'd buy me some time, for what I was about to do.

I found the room I was looking for, my old contact sitting behind a desk, looking smug with a glass of whiskey in his hand. I looked at him, anger surging through my body, blood rushing to my fists. I walked in, and closed the door before turning around to face my contact. I dropped the AK, and took the pistol out, releasing the mag out of its housing before dropping the pistol on the floor, the pistol making a gentle thud as it hit the shag pile rug I was standing on. I briefly looked at my contact 'friend' again, before making a lunge for him.

He jumped out of his chair just in time for me to crumple face first into the back piece of the chair.  The next thing I knew, I was lifted out of the chair and thrown across the room with such force, the glass cabinet I landed into smashed, sending miniscule pieces of glass everywhere. I hastily got up, before ducking out the way of a punch that could have easily knocked me out. Rolling on the rug, out of the way, I got up before the contact could make another move. I ran up towards him, interjected the punch he threw at me, and used his own force against him to wrap his arm around him, before putting him into a headlock and smashing his skull against the window he stood by. He cried out, and I could tell it hurt. He retaliated, kicking me straight in the chest. I fell flat to the floor, winded and bruised. With a hefty struggle, I managed to get up and out of the way as the contact made a dive for me. He missed, and landed in the remains of the glass cabinet. I pounced on him, before sending a series of brutal punches to his face, each punch giving me some sort of degree of pleasure for what he had done to me. Eventually, I stopped, because he stopped trying to retaliate. I breathed heavily, before feeling a shooting pain in the side of my stomach. I'd been stabbed by a shard of glass whilst I'd been beating the living daylights out of him, and I hadn't even realized. I got myself up, and walked over to the pistol and mag, brushing off the broken glass before picking both up, sliding the mag back into its chamber and the cocking the top sleeve back to load the bullet into the main chamber, the bullet that would satisfy my revenge, the bullet that would end my endless pain. Weapon loaded and in hand, I pointed it at the contact, told him to go fuck himself and emptied the clip into his skull. I fired the last shot just as the office door blew open, a series of gunshots fired. From then, everything went light and fuzzy, I saw my wife and daughter, hand in hand, smiling at me. 




I smiled back... 




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This material is property of myself, Pav Chandail. At NO POINT is this to be redistributed, copied or printed without my permission. Please contact me at if such need arises.

© Copyright 2018 Pav Chandail. All rights reserved.




© Copyright 2019 Pav Chandail. All rights reserved.

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