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I jumped up, reached for my bag. “Sure, yeah. Thanks.” I counted the notes in front of him but he didn’t watch. They were crisp and clean, straight from the ATM, but they felt really bloody dirty as I handed them over. He shoved them in his pocket, put up his hood.
“You alright if I leave?”
“You could stay,” I said. “Sorry, I mean, not with me, I mean, I’m leaving...” I composed myself, daring to smile. “I’ll start over. The room is paid for, if you wanted to stay.”
“Nah, you’re alright.”
That was as much of a goodbye as he offered.
***
Chapter Five
Callum
I tracked back to East Veil, hood up and feet pounding the streets as it grew dark. I needed home, the closest, shittiest thing to it I’d ever known, with its stench and its trash, and its hopeless fucking desperation. My head was rammed, thoughts smashing into thoughts, and right through all of them was her. Sophie Harding. Her stockings under that red dress, the noises she made, her tits, her smell. She smelled so good, not like the women I’d known before. She smelled different, classy. She smelled so fucking good.
The cash felt dirty in my pocket. Dirtier than all the filthy cash I’d ever owned. My stomach turned. It made no fucking sense, none of it. She was one of them, one of the establishment. One of them that looks down on people like me. I shouldn’t give a shit, not about her, not about her dirty fucking money. It don’t pay to think and it sure as fuck don’t pay to feel.
I slowed down as I reached the subway, the funnel of syringes and piss leading straight back to where I belong. I took out a roll-up as I came out the other side, cruised my way through the streets I’d grown up on. I wasn’t ready for Vick’s yet, not even ready for Casey.
Sophie fucking Harding.
Her stockings under that red dress, the noises she made. Her fucking smell.
Her blonde hair. Shiny, and soft looking. Red lipstick.
The hint of her tits, white flesh blushing red.
The noises she made...
I took out the cash, counted crisp notes in grubby fingers. I didn’t want it. Not from her. I wanted to give it back, tell her thanks. Thanks for bringing my Casey back, thanks for keeping quiet, thanks for not putting me inside again.
Thanks for nothing.
I shoved the notes back in my pocket, as deep as they would go. I’d take her fucking money, be her fucking guard dog in the next room ready to spring if lover boy got a bit leery.
Her piece of fucking meat. Her trash.
Shewas trash. The noises she made. Her slutty fucking dress. The way she begged.
Fuck. The way she begged.
I hadn’t had a fuck in months.
My dick was hard, balls aching so fucking bad in my jeans. I dropped into the shadows of tower two, stuffed my hand down where I needed it. So fucking hard. My balls were hot, tight, desperate to shoot my load. I needed pussy. Wet, tight, hot fucking pussy.
Her smell... posh perfume... and shampoo... and clean, soft skin... and sex...
I changed course, skirting back the way I came and detouring to Al’s fish and chips. It was closed, and so was the off license next door, but the benches to the side were still live and kicking, a gaggle of tower one girls with a bottle of cheap vodka between them. A couple of Blades’ gang members were kicking about across the road, but I’m good with Blades. Know them well enough to be on terms.
“You missed it,” one of the girls said. “Closed half hour ago.” I recognised her, Gemma Davies, brother’s inside for arson.
I shrugged. “Ain’t here for that.”
I looked at her mates. A couple of alright girls amongst the rabble, one redhead, one with long dark braids. And another, facing away from me, giggling with a stocky little skank in pigtails.
“Whatareyou here for then, Callum Jackson?” Gemma Davies smiled, hitched her skirt a bit. “Want a swig?”
