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I didn’t answer, already reaching for the exit. I was beyond done here. My hand was already on the latch as the door flew open, sending me thudding back into the wall. I steadied myself, shocked to find I was staring up into the face of a brute. The eagle on his head was even uglier up close, and his eyes were swollen red. Too much weed, and probably something else.
“Hey, Ty, I’ll be getting them window bars. Miss washername was just leaving. Got all the paperwork together.”
Tyler Jones stared down on me with nothing but venom in his eyes. “Dog weren’t fucking dead, then, shame.”
“The dog is fine, now,thank you,” I said, despite myself.
He stepped towards Hannah, and I caught the way she smiled up at him. Lord have bloody mercy. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “Next time I beat the shit out of him I’ll be sure to let you know. You can come watch again, tend to lover boy’s wounds when I’m done with him.”
Hannah slapped his thigh. “Watch it, Ty, she’s with the housing.”
“I know who she’s with. It’s written all over her. Ain’t the fucking housing why she’s here.”
“Goodbye, Mrs Jackson.”
I was out of that seedy, incestuous little shit hole as fast as my legs would carry me, only stopping to catch my breath by the main entrance. The rain started up, drizzle grey sky doing nothing for the appearance of the place. I leaned back against the wall, hiding out under the porch for the worst to subside, coat-less and umbrella-less and really bloody ill prepared.
I stared out over East Veil, over past the garage block to tower two, wondering where the savage was now. Was he dry somewhere? Holed up with Casey and Vicki Pollock and her poor little boy? Was he laughing with her, laughing about me and his stupid security job? The thought hurt a lot more than it should have.
The rain eased up after a few minutes, but kept me pinned long enough to find the answers to my questions. For as soon as I committed to move, several others did too.
Callum Jackson appeared from the shadows of tower two, hood up and pacing on a mission as he headed towards the garages. I could see him well enough that the ferocity in his eyes stopped my breath, but this time he didn’t see me.
He didn’t see me follow him, either.
***
Chapter Six
Callum
Three hundred quid could go a fuck of a long way for me and Vick. Could feed us for fucking weeks, pick us up some new gear, decent shoes and shit. Three hundred quid could buy me all the paint I needed, get some proper food in Casey too. It felt so pissing rough to hand it over to the Stoneys.
I’d have told them to stuff it, to fuck off and leave Vicki alone, but they’d only take me down. Me and then her. They don’t fuck around, people like that.
I told Vicki to stay at home, lock the pissing door and let me handle them. Eleven sharp, they’d said, and I’d picked the venue. The garages round here are quiet, see.
I called Casey to my side, and she stayed close, eyes full of play as I rounded the corner. I saw the Stoneys approaching from across the way, but kept my head down until they’d closed the gap. It was Trent Stoney who’d come for his cash, a couple of his guys hanging back behind him. One was a big, tough old cunt, built like a brick shithouse. The other was small, and scrawny, nasty eyes. They’d both be packing, I knew that much. Blades for sure, if not bullets. Casey didn’t like them, she kept well back, low to the floor with her hackles up.
“What ya got for me?”
“Three hundred.”
“Said three hundredminimum.”
“Everything I got.” I handed it over, and it fucking pained to watch the bastard count it.
His coat was expensive leather, his fingers rammed with bling. Gold no doubt, the proper stuff. He shoved the cash into an inside pocket.
“That’ll have to do, then, won’t it? Same time next week.”
“Next week?” I couldn’t hide the fury from my eyes, the fucking panic.
“Aye, soft lad, next fucking week. They pack your brains with cottonwool while you were inside?”
“How much?”
“Five. This three only clears the interest. That little skank should count herself lucky. We don’t normally come to terms.”
