Page 79 of Corrupt

Tristan blinked. Swallowed. Fuck, I felt like the worst kind of cunt.

“I know it’s like a hundred degrees out there, bro,” Keeley hoisted Maisie onto her hip, eyeing me up and down, “but you should wear a top for business meetings. Looks more professional.”

“Cheers, Kee. Appreciate the fashion advice,” I snapped, rattled to hell. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

I stalked to the coffee table, grabbed my cigarettes because if I didn’t put something in my mouth, I might put a fist through a wall. And no one here—baby, sister, Tristan—deserved even the echo of that.

“I need you to watch Maisie.” Keeley adjusted the baby, who was hellbent on getting down and showing off her new moves. “I’m going on a date.”

I stared, then barked out a laugh as I pushed the balcony door open, lit my cigarette, and blew out the smoke hard. “What? No.”

“You’re not doing anything,” Keeley called out, stepping closer.

Behind her, Tristan didn’t know where to look. And I couldn’t look at him without breaking.

“Who asked you out?” I dragged in smoke, held it until my lungs burnt, then exhaled. “Some prick with a death wish, clearly.”

Keeley chewed her lip, sheepish. “Toby.”

I blinked. Hard. Twice. “Toby? Works The Grange corner?”

She shrugged. Careless, innocent, infuriating.

The fucker worked for me. A crew runner with shaking hands and no respect had the gall, the suicidal gall, to ask out my sister.

Rage flared white-hot.

“Fuck no,” I snapped. “Absolutely fucking not. You’re not going anywhere near him.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’ll have another one of those”—I jabbed my cigarette at Maisie—“before the end of the night. He’s a walking pregnancy scare, Kee, and he’s got a fucking nerve even asking. Does he not know who you are?”

“Everyone knows who I am, Rich.” She shoved her hands on her hips. “That’s why I can’t get with no one.”

“Good.” I flicked the cigarette towards the canal, harder than I meant to. “You should be finishing school. Training for something. Getting the fuck out of this place. Not… fucking about with lowlifes.”

“Oh, right? Like you did, yeah?” she shot back, stepping closer. “Nice shiny GCSE certificates, yeah? No, you fucking didn’t. And every lowlife in Hackney works for you, so don’t start lecturing me.”

“Exactly!” I dragged a hand down my face. “That’s exactly why I am. Why I do this! Why I’m me, innit?”

She flinched. Startled.

So I softened, cause I hated scaring her or her baby. “I know what these blokes are, Kee. I know what they do to girls like you.” I gestured vaguely toward the estate, the canal, the whole shitty stretch of our world. “You think I built all this so you could end up stuck here the same as the rest of us?”

Her shoulders dropped a fraction.

But I was already wound too tight to stop.

“You’re meant to be the one who gets out.” I shook my head at her. “You and Maisie…you deserve better than this.”

Movement pulled my attention sideways, and my chest twisted as I caught Tristan at the coffee table being quiet, careful, slipping into his shoes with a gentleness that didn’t belong in rooms like mine. Head bowed as if not to intrude, he’d already decided he didn’t belong here at all.

Then he looked up. Met my eyes.

And the sick punched into my throat.

“I’ll go.” he angled his head to the door.