Page 47 of Crave

So I pulled back. “You ain’t getting paid for that.”

He tried to laugh, low and breathless, but it cracked when his split lip reopened. He winced, touched it, but I caught his hand before it could hide the mess and pressed my mouth to his instead, licking the blood clean off him. Then I stepped back, zipped up, trying for distance.

“What’s your name?” he asked, straightening, pulling his trousers up.

“Razor.”

He arched a brow. “That your real name?”

“It’s the only one you need to know.”

He tried to hide a smile, puffing out his swollen bottom lip. “Didn’t realise I was dealing with a brand.”

That smirk. God, it asked for trouble. I stepped in, close enough to smell him again. “It’s a name you don’t go telling people you did this with, yeah? No one.”

He nodded, but his eyes still held that spark, as if he’d had me sussed from day one.

“Tristan,” he said eventually. “In case you wanted to know.”

I snorted. “Tristan.” Despite the name rolling off my tongue like a fucking siren call, there was no way I could let it out again. “I can’t call you that.”

“Why not? It’s my name. Real one. You should try having one.”

That earned him another grab by the jacket and a kiss meaning to shut him up. Filthy. Hard. Erasing the pull that shouldn’t have been there. But it hit different. Too deep. Too wanting. Cause he was soft. Expensive-soft. Someone who’d never slept hungry. And for one stupid second, I wondered what I’d be if I wasn’t Razor. If there was still a life where Richie mattered. Where I could tell him my real name, let him meet the real me and what he’d think about him.

Thankfully, my burner rang, bringing me back to reality. I pulled away to dig it out of my pocket.

“I’ll call you Tricky instead.” I gazed over his skin. “’Cause that’s what you are.”

He tilted his neck. “Guess that makes two of us.”

He gave a faint, dazed smile, and I let him go.

Then the screen lit up. Reg. My dealer for Mare Street. Instinct kicked in. The world snapping back to order as I turned away, thumbed it on. “Yeah.”

His voice came rough through the static. “Boss? Door’s off in Bethnal. Everything’s gone.”

Nothing like business to snap me back to myself. “Fuck. Where’s Tyler?”

“He put Tiny on it. Said he had business.”

“Jesus. Fuck.” I dragged my fingers across my brow. “Stay there. I’m on my way.”

“Yes, boss.”

Click. Line dead.

I pocketed the phone, sliding my mask firmly back into place. Business mode. No trace left of what just happened as I looked at pretty boy.

“Your mate Benji’s in my bad books.” I sorted myself out to get back to why I was here. “Him and that posh prick you call an ex. They owe me. Big time.”

“What do they owe you?”

“Something that ain’t theirs. Took it off my line. I don’t let that slide.” I kept my face blank, but my hands curled into the pockets of my hoodie. “Here’s how it is: you find out if there’s anything left and you bring it to me. You do that, maybe I forget what your mate owes. You don’t, and I’ll make sure he pays in ways he won’t like.”

He swallowed. “Is this about those blokes who cornered us the other night outside the club? Because I paid them.”

“You did. Smart move.” I stepped in closer, till the alley smelt of him. Sweat, fear, and something cleaner underneath. “Problem is, you paid the wrong people. You and your mates walked straight into a turf war. That stash? Weren’t my runner’s, weren’t my gear. But it was my patch. Which means I’m owed. Either the lot, or the cash. Debt’s debt. And I didn’t earn my name by letting ignorance slide.” I leant in, voice low, almost a drawl. “And experience tells me I don’t get paid when I ask nicely.”