Mafia kingpins who have come from nothing shouldn’t waste their time and risk their lives walking through malls in the evening. But I do, so the people of Croydon know I’m as good as my word. London might look down on us and consider this sliceof south London a pit of vice and brutality, but I’m proud of the gritty work of those under my protection.
Though I never imagined I’d find my soulmate while walking through Croydon.
Because she is. That girl is as necessary to me as oxygen.
This isn’t just an impulse to fuck. No. It’s a golden strand of light that links two people, strong as the sun. She has appeared in my life and made a liar of me.
She’s got a sweet round face, freckles over her nose, pale brown eyes, and medium brown hair. There’s nothing about that accounting of her features that expresses how perfect she is. She glows from the inside, as though she’s lit with a magic her physical form can’t hold in. This girl—my girl, I’m sure—compels me. She stirs impulses I didn’t realise I had.
I want to care for her, spoil her, watch her flourish. I crave knowing everything about her.
She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, and I’m old enough to be her father, or her wicked uncle.
Londoners call me the Devil of Croydon, and I deserve the title. I’ve done things no man could if he had emotions.
But this girl makes me feel alive again, in a way I haven’t, maybe ever. That isolation? The loneliness? I’ve known that I was feared and alone, and it’s never bothered me much. I just assumed it was the pain of living. But suddenly the agony of not being with her is acute, like my soul has glimpsed its other part and now feels the wound of being a fractured, splintered half.
Ineedto know about her.
But she’s wary. Scared. She checks over her shoulder multiple times, and I sink into the shadows, not wanting to be the source of her fear. She continues to sense me anyway, as though my gaze is a brand on her skin.
She’s wearing a pair of cut-off jean shorts that reveal long, smooth, tanned legs. I imagine pushing her thighs apart andlicking between them. I’ve never been a selfish lover, but with a jolt, I realise I’m desperate to pleasure her in a way I’ve not felt about anyone before.
I also notice that there’s no place in her outfit for a purse, or even a phone. That peachy arse is smooth, no lump showing anything remotely practical with her.
Systematically, she goes into every shop, and I follow, getting close enough at times to get a lungful of her cherry scent. She has a sweet voice, high and nervous but it resonates with something deep in my chest as she asks about employment. Mostly she’s brushed off with a simple no.
But listening, I find out some small but precious details that she offers.
She’s twenty-one and doesn’t know Croydon at all. She’s quick, and sizes people up, understanding when to smile and when to be serious. My girl is smart, with a degree in graphic design, which makes me curious about why she’s asking for roles in shops rather than internships or positions in design firms.
It’s getting late too, and dark outside. She should be snuggled at home, not out searching for work. When she’s requested to leave a name and number, she doesn’t. Just asks when she can return.
I track her for an hour, my tasks forgotten, my own phone turned to silent and ignored. My territory could burn to the ground for all I care. She lingers outside a restaurant and reads the menu in the window with yearning in her eyes. As the night turns cool, she rubs her arms, and my fingers itch to take off my jacket and wrap her in my warmth.
This isn’t a casual evening outing for her.
Something has happened, she’s in trouble, but she’s not broken down. She’s working to get what she needs.
I’m proud of her. My little fighter, a brave angel. At half my age, she might not be for me in all the ways I want, because she’s far too young and innocent.
But in the most important one, she is mine.
I’m going to protect this girl. I’m going to care for her. I will love her from as close as I can get to her. I’ll watch her from the shadows. If, as I suspect, she’s alone in the world, I will be her friend, and more.
I’d kill to keep her safe.
3
LILY
Turns out, I suck at being homeless and unemployed. For hours, I’ve been told over and over that I’m not wanted. That there’s no job for me here, sorry, thank you for your interest, blah.
Which makes it all the sillier that I feel like this is the right place for me to be. The sense of being watched is as strong as ever, though I don’t see anyone looking. Whenever I look around, there are just shoppers minding their own business.
That’s when ahead, I see a man in a grey suit, with dark brown hair. I think I’ve seen him before…but I blink and he’s gone and I’m left, as usual, surrounded by people and yet alone. I’ve made my way along all the shops, there are just a few places left, when a flash of colour catches my eye. I stop, leaning down.
It’s a twenty-pound note. Crisp, smooth, lying on the stone.
